Deep
by gf7
Summary: Kensi and Deeks go undercover to stop a drug trafficker. They will do and sacrifice whatever they must in order to catch the bad guy, even if that means losing themselves in the process. But what happens when even that isn't enough?
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey all, this is to be my first multi-chapter NCIS LA fic. It's going to be fairly dark and intense. It will involve violence, sexual themes(though not graphic) and language. The story is basically about the insane emotional and physical sacrifices that these agents have to make in order to stay in character and how horribly wrong a deep cover can go. If that's not your cup, turn away. **

**If you're curious about how dark I can get once I get rolling, check out my CRIMINAL MINDS story HURT. While the themes are markedly different, the tone - and intensity - will be similar. I say this not to scare you away (please don't go!), but rather to forewarn you. If you're still interested, great - read on!**

**TIMELINE: This goes up to episode 2X12 - Overwatch. However, no Nell involved. The story stipulates that Kensi and Deeks have been partnered for about six months.  
**

**FEEDBACK: Please. And thank you.**

**J - tag.**

* * *

_"The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask."_

**_-Jim Morrison_**

* * *

She's a paradox.

Flirting comes as easily as breathing to her and yet she abhors doing it professionally.

She has a deep and profound love for anything with a motor and yet she's probably destroyed at least a dozen cars in her twenty-six years of life.

At least.

She's constantly looking to make a connection and yet runs like hell every time a guy says he'd like to see her again.

Yeah, some would call her a paradox.

Deep down, though, she knows the truth.

She's a hot mess.

A mess of many makings.

Her father's, her country's, God's.

Mostly her own if she's honest with herself.

Still…

She's not one for excuses (she accepts her flaws if not her limits), but if anyone has a right to a few excuses from time to time, she figures that she's probably a prime candidate.

Because even as she rejects the excuses, she admits (only to herself and often only when she's consumed far too much alcohol for her own good) that every now and again, she wouldn't mind if the great big Universe took some pity (she hates that word) on her and cut her a break or two.

Right now, she thinks to herself, would be a great time for the Universe to start.

She blinks slowly and even this takes extraordinary effort.

She knows enough to know that something is very wrong with her, but she can't even begin to imagine what. She's not entirely sure she wants to.

There's a dull thickness to her body. It feels almost alien to her, just barely her own. When she tries to lift her hand, the appendage refuses the command and stays right where it is. She'd laugh if she could get her voice to work.

She hears sounds and she strains to figure out what they are. Or for that matter, where they are. Above her, she presumes – but that doesn't answer the question of where she is. She has this feeling that this answer should come easily to her, but it doesn't.

She hears the sounds again and finally is able to determine that it's actually a man's voice.

Right about now, she can only make out a few words at a time.

None of them making a whole lot of sense.

She thinks she hears the word beautiful, but there's no context to it.

And then there's a smell – and maybe a taste – right next to her face. It's salty and vaguely alcoholic.

She feels something wet on her cheek – like a kiss - and instinctively knows that she doesn't want whoever this person is to touch her again.

But he does – roughly.

If she could identify which part of her he's touching, she would. She can't though. The hideously thick fog around her brain, the paralysis that seems to be freezing her body, it's too much.

Then again, maybe it's for the best.

If she can't defend herself, can't stop this man from doing things to her - hurting her - then maybe she doesn't really want to know what he's doing.

Maybe that will make it easier to deal later on.

If there is a later on.

He's even closer now and his mouth is touching hers. She feels her lips being forced apart.

She wants to bite him – even orders her jaw to work.

It refuses.

She feels his rough calloused palms somewhere on her skin.

Touching. Caressing. Squeezing.

And then it occurs to her what he's doing (or maybe has already done, she's not at all sure). Panic swells in her and her heart starts to pound in her chest.

She begs her body to fight back. Pleads with it.

Please, please, please don't let him do this.

Nothing moves.

Please, please, please don't let this happen.

Nothing.

Please. Please. Oh, God, please. Please, fight back.

_Please…_

She blinks again and all she sees are hazy images above her. But she can still smell him and every now again, when he presses his mouth against hers, she can taste him as well and it makes her stomach violently seize.

"We don't have time for this," a cold voice says. She's amazed that she's able to understand it. Hopefully, that means her senses are returning to her.

Hopefully, that means her fight is as well.

Because there's a few things that she'd like to do this guy who can't seem to keep his disgusting hands off of her.

"There's always time for this," the man atop her says, a hint of laughter in his tone. He finds this whole thing funny. It's enough to make her see metaphorical red if not for the fact that she has the literal red of blood in her eyes.

"No. We need to get going," the voice says again.

This time, she thinks that maybe she recognizes the voice, but for the life of her, she still can't place whom it belongs to.

Considering what he's stopping, however, she's willing to call him the Universe for a few seconds.

Call him the Universe and say thank you.

Her gratitude doesn't last but a few seconds.

"Shoot her up," the voice tells the man atop her. "And let's get the hell out of here before her backup arrives."

Backup?

It takes everything she has to focus on that word and what it means.

Dimly, she recalls her fingers scrapping against the too small keys of a phone. Desperately in-putting a four-digit code.

A code for what?

Her brain feels like mush, but through sheer force of will alone, she pushes forward memories of the last few hours.

She recalls a car ride and some kind of fight, some skirmish that had involved her being slammed against a wall. She remembers her head being whacked repeatedly against the hard surface (which would certainly explain why she can't focus, she realizes), and she remembers hearing glass shatter, but the most important thing she can pull up is a vague flash of her sitting in the backseat of a car, her hands cuffed in back of her. Still, in her hands is her phone and she sees her fingers frantically in-putting the Agent in Distress code.

Which means that yes, backup is on its way.

Her elation – and hope – doesn't last much longer than her gratitude for the voice had.

She feels a tight squeeze on her left arm, like something being tied around it. Then there's a sharp prick and a sudden rush of something as cold as ice water running through her veins.

And then everything is spinning and contorting and crumbling.

There are demons and ghosts just beyond the edges of her thoughts and suddenly, even through the feverish fog of her delusion, she has perfect clarity.

Suddenly, she knows exactly what is happening.

She's dying.

There's something in her blood now and it's flying through her.

She feels the tremors, feels the tightening of her chest and then sees the shadowy ghosts rushing towards her.

The last thing she hears is the Voice. He's leaning over her and his hand touches her face, almost gently (she has another flash then – one that seems to involve hands raking across naked skin, but that makes no sense, right?).

He says to her, "Rest in peace, Agent Blye."

So she does what she's told – which is something of a first for her – and she closes her eyes and tries to rest.

* * *

Backup arrives mere minutes later – two men racing from the car and sprinting into the warehouse, guns out.

Callen, as always, takes the lead. He gestures and points to Sam, telling him to go around the back.

He wants to call out for her, but he doesn't dare.

Just in case the bad guys are still around.

They're not.

It's a realization that comes to him quickly, if not coldly as he steps over the shattered remains of Kensi's cell phone. He leans down and picks it up, realizing that it's been crushed by the heel of a man's heavy boot.

"G, in here!" Sam calls out.

He jumps and rushes the voice, racing through an open door.

And then he freezes.

Everything in him turns to ice when he sees her lying on the cold hard cement of the warehouse, her body twitching violently, her hands spasming, flailing about frantically, blindly.

"Kensi," he whispers.

"She's overdosing," Sam says from his position just above her. He's turning her on her side, trying to control the overdose, trying to keep her from hurting herself even worse than somebody else already has.

And have they ever.

She's covered in jagged and bloody cuts and horrifically colorful bruises. Her clothes, while still on, leave little to the imagination with as torn as they are.

It takes Callen an uncharacteristically long moment to gain his wits about him – something he's loathe to admit.

But there are so many thoughts going through his mind.

So many fears.

He's sure that he's about to lose her.

Positive of it.

He barely hears Sam speak. It isn't until Sam says his name that he returns to the here and now.

"What?" he stammers, taking a slight hesitant step towards them. "What did you say?"

"I said she's dying, G," Sam tells him, looking deep into his eyes. "We don't have time for this."

"I…"

"We have to get her to a hospital."

"I…"

"Now, G!"

It snaps Callen out of the strange funk that his mind had sunk into. The leader part of his clicks on and suddenly he's ridiculously calm and cool.

"Pick her up. She doesn't have time to wait on an ambulance getting here."

He needn't have given the order; Sam is already holding her in his arms, pressing her tight against his chest, trying desperately to calm the violent tremors that are shaking apart her lean (and suddenly far too fragile) frame.

Callen looks around the warehouse and shakes his head, "Where the hell is Deeks? How could he let this happen to her?"

Sam doesn't reply. There's no answer he could give that will give any of them any comfort. After all, the options on this one aren't very good. Either Deeks betrayed them all and left Kensi to this horrible fate (Sam immediately rejects this option – Deeks might drive him insane, but he's Kensi's partner - he'd never let her be hurt if he could help it) or much more likely, he's dead and dumped somewhere in Los Angeles.

It's a horrible thing to consider and yet, he can't not.

Sam reaches out and touches Kensi's face, the tips of his fingers tracing a dark bruise that is already blooming beneath her left eye socket. "Hang on," he urges.

She shudders in response and calls out first for Deeks and then, her voice cracking horribly, she pleads desperately for her father.

It breaks his heart.

* * *

Henrietta Lange had long ago came to realize that there was a blessing in being her size – well many if she really thought about it – but one largely (no pun intended) significant one, especially right now.

That blessing, she muses, as she cuts between several towering scrub-adorned men who are huddled in the hallway of the West Los Angeles Medical Center, is her ability to move lightning fast and almost never be noticed.

She's down the hallway and in front of the much taller doctor within moments. He blinks when he sees her and stammers, "Ma'am?"

"My agent," she replies crisply. "How is she?"

For a moment, he looks confused. But then, hesitantly, "Agent Anne Cochran?"

"Yes, Agent Cochran," Hetty nods, grateful that whoever checked Kensi in had had the presence of mind to use an alias. Even now, even in such dire circumstances, preserving and protecting the base identity is key. It's all right if these men know that Kensi – or Anne in this case – is a Federal Agent, it's not okay if they know that she's an NCIS OSP operative.

The doctor glances down quickly at a clipboard that he's carrying and then looks back up and she sees the concern deep in his hazel eyes. She steels herself for what he's about to say, rationalizes that as long as it starts with "she's fighting", that will be okay.

"Go on," she urges, her voice dropping just a bit, taking on a gentle tone.

"Well as I told the two young men that came in with her, her condition is quite serious. Right now, we're just trying to stabilize her."

"What are her injuries?"

"She was beaten badly and suffered a fairly severe concussion, but that's not the worst of it. It seems she was injected with some new type of designer heroin."

"Prince Charming," Hetty replies.

"You're aware of the drug?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well we've been seeing this Prince Charming drug a lot over the last few weeks and most of the time it doesn't…" He trails off, changes course, "It's causing your agent significant complications, especially to her heart."

Hetty meets the Doctor's eyes. "I trust that I don't need to tell you how important Agent Cochran is to my team." She pauses slightly and then adds in a much lower voice, "And to myself."

"No, your other agents made that very clear. I promise you, we're doing everything we can. If she has even a little bit of fight in her, I'm hopeful that we can pull her through this."

"Then we're all in luck, Doctor," Hetty chuckles. "Agent Cochran is all fight." There's enormous and unmistakable pride in her tone.

"Good. I'll let you know as soon as I know something more," he tells her. "By the way, your other agents are down in the cafeteria, I believe. They were both quite…emotional and there's nothing they can do up here."

She nodded. "Thank you." And with that, she turns and walks away, down the hallway, towards the elevator.

He watches her for a beat, thinking about the crazy life that he has and realizing that it doesn't handle a candle to the lives that these agents (and yes, he's quite aware that the woman he is taking care of is using an alias) are leading.

* * *

She's not even a little surprised to find the two men sitting across from each other at one of the long cafeteria tables. Neither of them is speaking or even looking at each other.

There's no companionship in this fear.

"Gentlemen," she says. They look up. She seats herself.

"Any news?" Callen asks first, almost tripping over his words.

"No, not yet."

Silence again.

"Director Vance is going to want a full accounting of how this entire operation went down."

"You mean how it went bad?" Sam challenges.

Hetty leans forward. "Now, both of you listen to me very closely. This job we do, it's dangerous and we can't control all parts of it."

"Hetty, if you're about to say that this isn't anyone's fault, please don't," Callen tells her. "We've all been through this far too many times to buy that line."

"No, of course not, Mr. Callen. It's quite clear that mistakes were made somewhere along the way. We need to know where."

"There are parts that only Kensi knows," Sam offers. "And Deeks. And we have no idea where the hell he is."

"Finding Mr. Deeks is priority number one," Hetty assures him. "But as we don't even yet know where to begin looking, we're best ensuring that we understand where we have been so we know where to go next."

Callen shakes his head, almost violently. "Dammit, she wasn't ready for deep cover yet."

"She's no rookie, G," Sam counters.

"She wasn't ready," Callen insists again. "I knew it." He looks up at Hetty, blue eyes sparking fire. "I warned you…"

Hetty fixes him with a hard look and he falls silent, still simmering, still shaking his head. "When Agent Blye wakes up – and she will, wake up - she can fill us in on the details that only she knows. Until then, let's start at the beginning."

For a moment, neither Sam nor Callen speaks. They both stare at each other, their faces mirrored, both showing a level of shock that seems almost odd. These two men, they've been through so much, they've absorbed so many tragedies and yet somehow, stupidly, they'd both allowed themselves to care again.

Hetty's seen this before – it's the nature of team undercover work. Even with grizzled and weary agents who know better, sometimes, the team gets too close, becomes too much like a family and when that happens, the breaking point comes quickly.

Sometimes it's not a good idea to force a pack out of a handful of lone wolves.

And yes, she's not even a little bit sorry that she did.

Though right about now, she's desperately wishing Nate wasn't on special assignment halfway across the world. She could very much use his kind of calm.

Unfortunately, he's not available to her and it's her job to get to the truth.

"Please," she urges. "There's nothing else we can do now, but…"

"We should be out there looking for Deeks," Sam insists. "Not sitting here telling stories."

"Again, Mr. Hanna, I agree. Do you have a place you'd like to start?"

"We can go back to the warehouse we found Kensi in, look it over. Maybe there's a clue…"

"Mr. Beal is going through all the video footage he can locate. If there's something to find, he will and he will update us immediately. Anywhere else?"

"The apartment Kensi and Deeks were at," Sam replies.

"Detective Bernhardt called me about fifteen minutes ago. He and his partner went there to check it out. They say it looks undisturbed, no sign of struggle."

Sam opens his mouth to offer another suggestion, but then reluctantly closes it.

Hetty leans forward. "Everyone is looking for Mr. Deeks. I even called Mr. Renko and asked him to return back to Los Angeles to lend a hand. He's on his way. As for us, as soon as we have even the slightly thread as to his whereabouts, we will jump in, but for now, the best thing we can do is wait here and pray for Agent Blye. And in the meanwhile, figure out how all of this happened."

The men exchange a wary look and then reluctantly, Callen – always the leader, even in fear - starts.

* * *

_One Month Earlier_

_He's mid way through his second cup of badly brewed coffee when he sees her walk into the Mission, dark oversized sunglasses still on. She's trying to slide in without anyone noticing her, which alone means that she's trying to hide something._

_Once quick glance at her messy hair and make-up less face tells him that it'd been a long night for her. He smirks, grins over at his partner Sam Hanna and then steps towards her._

_"You look like hell," he says. His tone is entirely too chipper._

_NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye forces a smile as she turns to greet him. "I'm fine."_

_"Do I see gills?" Callen asks, leaning in._

_"I think so," Sam confirms, also stepping towards her. He doesn't invade her personal space, but he comes close enough to inspect the side of her neck. "Yeah, definitely and they look a little bit…"_

_"No, they don't!" She puts her hands out as if to push them away from her. "I don't have gills and I'm not green around them."_

_The two men look at each other and shrug._

_"She's kind of cranky," Callen notes, dropping himself down into the chair behind his desk. He picks up a thick pile of paperwork, does a very casual almost obligatory flip through it and then puts it back down._

_"I've noticed," Sam nods, depositing himself into his own chair. Unlike Callen, Sam begins to carefully inspect the files in front of him._

_"So, what was it? Too much vodka last night?" Callen asks casually, smiling. "Or was it the Jack again?" And then, smile widening, "Or was there a Jack."_

_"No," she replies, not at all convincingly. "No Vodka and no Jack."_

_"Ah, but sometimes, the classics work best when you're feeling slightly under the weather," a familiar voice rumbles from their side. Callen rolls his head to the side to see Hetty Lange walking towards them, a cup of tea nestled in her small palms. "Lemon tea, my dear."_

_"Thank you," Kensi replies, with more than a touch of affection. She slides off ger sunglasses (revealing bloodshot eyes) and takes the cup from Hetty. She sips it and then, in the direction of the boys, adds, "I appreciate the consideration."_

_"She sound to you like she's whining?" Callen asks Sam._

_"A little bit," Sam confirms._

_"Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna, don't you have reports due in two hours?" Hetty reminds them, a slight amused glint in her eyes._

_"Ooh, saved by mom," Sam chuckles._

_Hetty is about to respond when the sound of loud whistle echoes across the room. In unison, all of them look up to see their tech Eric Beal. He's standing high above them, on the balcony, dressed in his typical khaki shorts and a shirt that likely even MC Hammer would have found too loud._

_Callen doesn't miss Kensi's reaction – a sharp pained wince._

_"We're ready," Eric says and Callen notices that while he's addressing all of them, he's specifically speaking to Hetty._

_"Good," Hetty nods. To the others, "If you will all join me upstairs." And then she heads up the stairs. She joins Eric up at the top and they disappear back into the Ops room._

_"So, are you hung over or actually sick?" Callen asks as he jumps from his chair, happy to have an excuse not to touch the pile of paperwork in front of him._

_"Neither," Kensi growls, sliding in front of him and darting up the stairs._

_Callen turns to Sam, "What do you think?"_

_"Benefit of the doubt so sick," Sam replies._

_"I'll take hungover."_

_"Okay," Sam shrugs agreeably._

_"Twenty on it?"_

_"Sure."_

_"I hate you both," she calls down the stairs._

_And then promptly proceeds to nearly stumble over her feet._

_Only a sudden hand, low on her back (maybe too low) stops her from pitching down the steps and falling into a pathetic heap at the foot of the staircase._

_She looks up and forces something that likely resembles a smile._

_Or a macabre grimace._

_"Deeks," she growls at her partner (who seems to have appeared out of thin air, much to her annoyance.)_

_"Kensi," he replies smoothly and with a far too wide grin._

_"Thanks for the save," she tells him._

_"You're welcome."_

_"Your hand?"_

_"Sorry," he smirks and then takes perhaps a moment too long to remove his hand from her backside. She lifts an eyebrow and he meets her gaze evenly. It's an old school stand-off and neither is quite willing to look away._

_"Oh, good, Deeks, we need a tiebreaker," Callen chirps, sliding between them and breaking their staring contest. "Hungover or sick?"_

_For a moment, LAPD Detective Marty Deeks seems surprised. He's been liaising between the LAPD and NCIS for almost six months now and he's still not completely sure that any of them want him around. The jokes and pranks they pull are usually at his expense as opposed to inclusive of him._

_"Uh, sick?" he finally stammers, casting a side-long glance over at his partner. She doesn't look quite right, a bit pale and not quite put together._

_Like maybe she's been up all night doing something._

_"Two to one," Sam announces, coming up behind them and then passing them on his way into the Ops room. "I win."_

_"That's just because he's never seen Kensi hungover before," Callen shoots back. "Trust me, Deeks, it looks a lot like this." Even so, he's pulling out a twenty dollar bill and offering it to Sam._

_"You suck," Kensi growls at him. She reaches out and snatches the twenty away from Sam. His only response is to chuckle.  
_

_"So, uh…how…uh…how often are you hungover?" Deeks asks her, more than a hint of amusement (and maybe intrigued curiosity) in his tone. He's wisely taken a step back and away from her like he knows the question might result in her taking a swipe at him._

_And she hits hard – this, he knows from experience._

_"Really? You, too?" Kensi demands and he's suddenly trying to avoid her eyes because he's fairly sure that they're shooting lasers of death and destruction at him right about now._

_"I…" he puts up his hands in a show of mock protest, but the grin he's wearing pretty much sells him out._

_"Ugh. I hate all of you," she amends with a growl and then moves past him, her gait meant to be sharp and purposeful, but looking a bit off wobbly instead._

_"Congrats," Callen tells him, clapping his shoulder. "Welcome to the club."_

_"Thanks?"_

_Callen smirks and heads into the Crow's Nest. After a moment, Deeks trails him._

_"So, what are we dealing with?" Callen asks, suddenly all-business._

_Hetty looks around the room and addresses the techs in the corners of the room. "Unless you are deep cover cleared, please exit at this time."_

_The techs – two men and a women – do so instantly. Hetty closes the door behind them and closes the blinds, causing the room to go dark except for the bright reflective glow from the LCD screen._

_"Deep cover?" Callen asks and his brow is furrowed._

_"Yes. Mr. Beal, if you'll begin, please?"_

_"Right," Eric says. He pushes a few keys on his control pad. "Meet Charlie Wilson. Seemingly innocuous college student, aged twenty-two."_

_A picture of a handsome young surfer with golden hair and twinkling blue eyes comes up on the screen._

_"And this is Charlie Wilson from two days ago."_

_A video comes on the screen of the same blonde young man wearing a hoodie and baggie jeans. The video shows him moving furtively down an alley. At one point, he turns towards the camera, revealing his face._

_"Is that the same guy?" Callen asks._

_"Unfortunately," Eric nods._

_"He's been using pretty heavily then," Kensi notes, her tone grim as she takes in the now sunken in and sallow face of Charlie Wilson. He looks at least ten years older than he had in the previous photo._

_"Right," Eric agrees. "And this is him when he was found last night."_

_Another image comes up, this one showing Charlie Wilson, naked, badly beaten and quite dead._

_"Okay," Deeks says, "College kid runs afoul of his dealer."_

_"Yes and he's far from this first." Eric pushes another button and several dozen photos come up, all showing pictures of dead college students. "Most of these cases are overdoses, a few of them are like Charlie."_

_"What does this have to do with us?" Callen asks. "I don't see a military connection."_

_"I'm getting there," Eric replies. "These kids are overdosing from a new street drug called –"_

_"Prince Charming," Deeks puts in. When the others in the room turn to face him, he continues. "It's a new brand of heroin cut with some kind of designer drug. The upside is much longer and much more dramatic highs. Downside is that it's almost instantly addictive. There is no such thing as just trying it socially. You try it and you're suddenly looking at an expensive habit that just keeps snowballing until you're completely out of control. Even worse, it's very, very easy to overdose. The LAPD has been running into this drug and the trail of bodies it's being leaving behind it for about the last six months or so."_

_"What he said," Eric nods. "Which is where we come into this." He brings the video of Charlie Wilson back up. "Watch," he says._

_The video shows Charlie slink around a corner and then come up to another man dressed in cargo pants and a hoodie. His face is obstructed._

_Charlie starts speaking to him and almost immediately, the body language from the man in the cargos get aggressive._

_Suddenly, there's a gun out and Charlie's trying to back away, but before he can, two men come up beside him and start hitting him. Hard._

_The brutal beating continues for about a moment and then the man in the cargos turns to walk away. As he does, the camera catches his face._

_Mid twenties and Latino._

_Eric pauses the video._

_"Meet Marine Corps First Lieutenant Paul Sanchez. Did two stints in Afghanistan and is awaiting orders to return for a third tour."_

_"And making some money in the meanwhile," Sam grumbles, eyes narrowing dangerously._

_"He's just a low level dealer," Kensi says, "Charlie probably got an advance and couldn't pay him back."_

_"But why such violence?" Eric asks. "I mean it's not good business to kill off your buyer base, right?"_

_"No," Deeks agrees. "But Charlie probably got desperate and tried to blackmail Sanchez. Sanchez didn't have any choice, but to kill him."_

_"Okay so we have a Marine dealing heroin and killing his buyers," Callen says. "Since we know who he is, why don't we just pick him up."_

_"We have," Hetty cuts in. Immediately, the room gets very quiet. Hetty doesn't often take the floor; she's typically content to let Callen run the show, but on this one, she puts herself front and center. "He was picked up this morning by military police. After extensive questioning, I was called. It seems that Lt. Sanchez wants to make a deal. He knows who is at the top of the distribution chain and is willing to help us get to him."_

_"Has he told us the name?" Deeks queries._

_"Christopher Kassel, thirty-five." Eric says and a picture of a man with deep olive skin, dark hair and green eyes comes up. "Born in Columbia to American parents. He's a former Marine as well, though from several years ago. He did four years and got out. After that, he fell off the map until about three years ago when the DEA started to attach him to several major heroin smuggling operations. No one has ever been able to get close enough to him to pin anything on him."_

_"Lt. Sanchez says that he can get someone in," Hetty tells them._

_"Sanchez knows Kassel?" Callen asks, a bit incredulous._

_"He claims Kassel hand recruited and trained him. And that one of his jobs is to bring new distribution pipelines to Kassel."_

_"New dealers," Sam translates._

_"Exactly.""_

_"So, we're sending one of us in with Sanchez?" Callen asks._

_"Two of you. Detective Deeks and Agent Blye."_

_Before either of them can say anything, Hetty points to Eric. He pushes a button and another video comes up on the screen, this one of Sanchez in an interrogation room, facing a NCIS agent._

_"Chris is specific about what he wants in his new guys. They have to be young and look like they could fit in a college campus so I always try to recruit from actual campuses. Makes it easier. He wants them to be a bit rough around the edges, not clean cut. After all, they have to be able to sell to kids. And they have to always, always, always be attached. He wants a girlfriend so that if the new guys goes stupid, he has something to hold over them. Day one, he tells the new guy, 'you're gonna make a shitload of money, kid, but you fuck me and I will kill your woman.' And he has."_

_Eric pauses the video._

_There's a moment of silence and then Deek says, "Wait, let me get this right, Kensi has to pretend to be my woman?"_

_Kensi groans.  
_

_Hetty ignores him and turns to face Callen. "No offense, Mr. Callen, but I don't think you or Mr. Hanna fit the requirements that Lt. Sanchez just laid out."_

_"No," Sam agrees. "G and I both know what clippers look like."_

_"Funny," Deeks replies, running a hand self-consciously through his shaggy locks. He glances over at Kensi, sees her smirking and adds, "Now come on, honey, defend your man."_

_"Bite me."_

_"Later, maybe. When we're alone."_

_"Deeks, I swear to God…"_

_"He's not Deeks," Hetty says. "He's James Reese, a computer science major at UCLA. Ms. Blye, you are Kara Barstow, a theatre student, also at UCLA." She hands both of them files. "By the time you are ready to go in, both of you will be thoroughly and completely backstopped."_

_"Hey, look," Deeks laughs. "We're engaged."_

_"Deeks..."_

_"Just think, honey, we already have a dog. You, me, Monty, kids on the way eventually. I'm thinking 2.5 of them."  
_

_"He's not going to survive this," Kensi says under her breath as she flips through the file, her eyes scanning the lines of information that have been created for Kara Barstow. She's never done deep cover before, but she understands the theory behind it._

_It's a little bit like writing a story and then acting it out._

_It's all about becoming the character. Or so she's heard Sam and Callen say a thousand times._

_As she goes down the page, her mind begins to create the character and she starts to try to figure out how she differs from Kensi Blye. _

_How she is, in fact, someone completely different from Kensi Blye._

_Kara Barstow is something of an orphan(something she can quite obviously relate to) – both of her parents are long dead, but she has a much older brother in Chicago._

_Kara is flirty and just a little bit flighty. She's dramatic and girlish, not at all good at things like cars and guns. Still, she's independent and has a stubborn streak. She's a bit of a feminist, but more one in theory than practice. She likes her men to be strong and in control.  
_

_"I took the liberty of having Lt. Sanchez brought to the Boathouse," Hetty says, interrupting her thought process. "He will be waiting for you there. Question him thoroughly – he will be the one introducing the two of you to Mr. Kassel."_

_"How do we know he won't just immediately out Kensi and Deeks to save his own ass?" Callen asks._

_"Sanchez has already implicated Kassel. He's in too deep. There's no way Kassel forgives him for what he's already said," Sam answers. Then he looks at Hetty. "Plus I'm guessing he was cut a pretty good deal."_

_"If he comes through and you are able to arrest Mr. Kassel and he then testifies, yes, he has been offered a very generous deal. Mr. Kassel is the big fish here. The Feds want him, the LAPD want him and Director Vance wants him. All have agreed to work together on this."_

_"I guess that's that then" Deeks says._

_"Hetty, can I talk to you?" Callen asks, brow furrowing again._

_"Of course," she nods. They stop towards the door of the room, but don't exit it._

_Callen lowers his voice and leans in. "This could take weeks, even months. Kensi has never done deep cover before."_

_"True," Hetty replies. "But there has to be a first time."_

_"And I'm ready," Kensi says loudly, stepping towards them. Then she smiles slightly and shrugs, "I can read lips." Then to Callen. "But I am ready for this."_

_"You have to keep your cover every minute," he tells her and there's a sense of urgency in his tone. "Whatever it takes – whatever - to keep your cover."_

_"I know. I'm good at this."_

_"You're good at short cover. You're the best, but this is a different beast. Even one step off of the person you're supposed to be and you could end up dead. You can't be Kensi Blye pretending to be Kara Barstow. You have to be Kara Barstow. You have to act like she would. You can't be wondering how she should act in a situation, you have to know. In order to make this work, you have to lose Kensi and became Kara."_

_"I'm ready," she insists again. "I can do this."_

_"Then it's settled," Hetty announces. "Lt. Sanchez is waiting for you all at the Boathouse. Let's not keep him waiting."_

_Callen's look says he's unconvinced by this plan, but he closes his mouth and then turns and exits the room. Sam glances over at Kensi, who is wearing a slightly hurt expression._

_"You know it's not personal," he tells her._

_"I can do this," Kensi repeats, her voice low._

_"I know you can and he does, too. He's just…G."_

_"Right. Just G."_

_And now maybe some of the hurt is turning into defiant anger._

_"Whatever. Come on, Deeks."_

_"Sure, honey. By the way, how's that hangover headache doing?"_

_She tosses him a dirty look._

_"Oh, come on," he says, "Don't be mad. Honey, I know just the best hangover remedy ever."_

_"I don't want to know," she tells him, moving quickly down the stairs._

_He shrugs. "Let's see if you're still saying that after we get married."_

_That, of course, earns him a hard fist to the shoulder._

_"You're lucky it wasn't a knee to the groin," Sam chuckles as he passes them._

_Rubbing his sore shoulder, Deeks can't help but admit that Sam is probably right._

* * *

_Paul Sanchez is a nervous guy, full of excitable energy and frayed nerves. When he sees the door to the interrogation room open, he jumps to his feet._

_When he sees the two agents that enter – Deeks and Kensi – his eyes immediately track towards (and over) Kensi and a kind of strange cruel curiosity crosses his face. His appraisal of her is quite clearly sexual._

_"Sit down," Deeks says, immediately taking control. He gives Kensi a look, the kind that seems to be asking her to let him handle this one._

_She nods her head ever so slightly and then silently, she slides her body against the far wall of the room, arms crossed, the rigidness of her spine in direct contrast with her almost casual posture._

_Sanchez sits, but he can't seem to keep his eyes from darting towards Kensi._

_"On me, Soldier" Deeks tells him. "Keep your eyes on me. She's not even here."_

_Sanchez obeys, years of military training making him snap to near attention. This is clearly a man who is used to being told what to do._

_"You understand what you're being asked to do?"_

_"Yes," Sanchez nods. "Get you in." When he speaks, Deeks can almost taste the cigarettes and alcohol that Sanchez had likely been gorging himself on in the hours before he'd been apprehended._

_"Not just get us in, make sure you sell us. We have to be believable and we have to be able to get close to Kassel. You screw that up and you're going to spend the rest of your life behind bars."_

_"I understand," he replies and then, quite unable to stop himself, his eyes dart over towards Kensi again._

_Before Kensi can say or do anything, Deek snaps, "Me. On Me." Once Sanchez is looking at him again, he continues, "Now, walk me through your typical recruiting process."_

* * *

_"What the hell was that?" Kensi demands as they exit the room._

_"An educated guess," Deeks shrugs. "I looked over Sanchez's file on the way here. It said that he'd grown up in a single parent home, mother ran out on he and his father. As an adult, he'd had some domestic disturbance calls involving his first wife and there's a citation in his military jacket about a complaint of lewd behavior involving a waitress during one of his leaves."_

_"So he's a sexist pig," Kensi replies. "I can handle that."_

_"I know you can," Deeks replies softly and there's a hint of admiration in his tone._

_"But you figured he'd more likely to respond to a man than a woman."_

_"I figured he probably doesn't have a very healthy view of women and is more likely to stay in line when being told what to do by a man."_

_"Good call," she says simply. She hates being dismissed by anyone (especially a piece of garbage like Paul Sanchez), but she understands the concepts of manipulation, leverage and pressure points and knows that ego has no place in this business. If by being a macho and commanding man, Deeks can get Sanchez to cooperate, well then, she can live with that._

_Besides, she reminds herself, Kara Barstow is the kind of woman who would probably allow her man to lead._

_As much as the very idea of ever being submissive to anyone burns at her, she understands that she needs to come to peace with it._

_Kara and Kensi are not the same._

_She has to be Kara._

_"You nervous?" Deeks asks, breaking into her thoughts._

_She's about to reply (with an honest yes) when she sees Callen and Sam approaching. Instead of whatever she was about to say, she pastes a large smile across her face and replies, "Not at all."_

* * *

"She was lying," Callen says simply, lifting his eyes up to meet Hetty's. "But because I made her feel like she couldn't do it, she was insistent that she would."

"She was insistent that she would because it's her job," Hetty replies softly.

"And G, up until three days ago, we all thought this case we going pretty well," Sam reminds him. "She and Deeks were close to Kassel."

At that moment, Hetty's phone rings. She glances down at it, then gets up from the table and moves away.

"So what the hell went wrong then?" Callen asks Sam after a moment. "How did they get made?"

"We don't know that they did," Sam answers.

"What he did to her, it's much worse than what he's done to any of the other ones that he's killed. The others have just been beaten and killed. He tortured her. Maybe he didn't know she was NCIS, but he know she was law enforcement of some kind."

Sam doesn't counter that, knows he can't.

"Maybe," Hetty says suddenly, reappearing, her phone in her hand. "Ms. Blye can provide us with some of these answers." She meets their eyes, first Callen and then Sam. "She's stable and she's conscious."

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**First, thanks for all of the wonderful feedback - it's been great. And very much appreciated. Keep it coming!  
**

**Second, I want to make it clear that I am not wise in the ways of drugs and medicine or undercover work so there are likely some liberties taken. **

**Third, this chapter is a bit slow and deliberate, but I wanted to set the table for the story. I promise, it will speed up and get a lot more dramatic going forward.  
**

**Finally, please note that anything in _italics_ is a flashback.**

**

* * *

**

The doctor is waiting for them just outside the door to Kensi's private room when they get there less than five minutes later (which, considering that the cafeteria is several floors below the ICU, is remarkable in and of itself).

"How is she?" Callen blurts out, his words tumbling over each other. His approach is aggressive and thoughtless; he doesn't care who he intimidates. Sam is a step behind him, slightly more conscious of their surroundings, but only slightly. Hetty hangs back, within earshot.

"Serious, but stable," the doctor replies. "Once she's fully coherent, we'll need to put her through a series of tests to ensure there was no brain damage, but we're reasonably hopeful. We were fortunate; the damage she sustained was mostly to her skull – there's been very little bleeding and we've been fairly successful at controlling it. That said, she's running a pretty high fever and she's in a good deal of pain. Pain, which we can do nothing about."

"You can't give her anything because of the drugs already in her system," Callen mutters.

"Right. We don't dare. And, unfortunately, to call the headache she's experiencing a killer migraine would be the understatement of the century and that doesn't even begin to address the rest of the beating that she suffered."

"But?" Sam prompts, sensing Callen's anxiety starting to grow.

"But, I think if we can get through the night, she should be all right."

"Good," Callen says, visibly exhaling. "Can we see her?"

"Yes."

Both Sam and Callen start towards the door, practically in lock step.

The doctor steps in the way and then puts up a hand to stop them. "I understand that all of you want answers. I respect your need to know what happened to her tonight, but if you think I'm going to allow any of you to put her through any kind of emotional ordeal, you're quite mistaken."

"Ordeal?" Sam repeats and now he's the one who is visibly anxious. "We won't hurt her."

It's quite apparent that he's offended by even the idea of being the one that would hurt Kensi. This woman -the youngest agent on their team, but more capable than many thirty year veterans – is like a little sister to him.

"Intentionally, probably not, but I can't even begin to stress how weak Agent Cochran is. She's been through quite the trauma and while she is currently stable, her condition remains quite serious. She was injected with a high dose of heroin. She came extremely close to a fatal overdose. It's imperative that she stays calm, do you understand me?"

"Gently," Hetty tells the men as she steps forward, reminding everyone of her presence. She knows these two well and can tell that they're starting to get impatient.

Kensi is family to them. They'd sooner cut off one of their own hands than cause her any harm.

Right now, they want two things: to know that she's okay and to know what happened to her – and Deeks.

And in that order, too.

"Kid gloves," Callen assures her. And then to the doctor, "I promise."

"Fine. Five minutes. No more." There's a crispness to this tone, the kind that suggests that he's not thrilled with giving them even that much time.

The men nod and reluctantly, the doctor steps away and allows them entrance.

Callen takes a breath and steps in, followed closely by Sam. Hetty hangs back and out of the corner of his eye, Callen sees her take the doctor by the arm and lead him away. He makes a mental note to ask about the conversation later.

For now, he turns his attention to the beautiful woman lying in the bed, barely moving except for a slight tremor every now and again.

That he thinks Kensi looks better now is a sign of how badly she'd looked when they'd found her. How horribly hurt she'd seemed to be.

Her face is bruised, swollen and cut and there's a just changed out still all-white bandage on the left side of her head. Her mismatched eyes are open, but there's a glassy unfocused quality to them.

He tries not to even think about the beeping machines and all of the damn wires.

"Hey," Kensi whispers, her voice hoarse and cracking. She tries to force a smile, but lacks both the ability and the energy to do so.

"Hey," Sam says first and emotion nearly chokes him. He approaches the bed, but stops just short of reaching out to touch her.

"I really got myself into it this time, didn't I?" she chuckles. The sound is terribly pained.

"Yeah, you did," Sam agrees.

She looks past him and sees Callen still hovering close to the doorway. He may have entered the room first, but he seems quite reluctant to move any closer to her. "I'm sorry," she says to him.

"Sorry?" he repeats. "For what?"

"You said I wasn't ready."

"Kensi, this isn't your fault," he answers, coming towards her.

"Yes, it is."

A machine beeps nearby.

"Calm down," Sam pleads.

"I didn't know what to do," she says. "I had to do what she would do and then everything was spinning out of control…I don't know how he knew…"

She's starting to babble now, her voice taking on an almost hysterical edge.

The machine beeps again.

"Kensi, please," Sam pleads, taking one of her hands in his. "Calm down."

She looks behind him, looks around. "Where is he?"

The two men exchange a look.

"Where's Deeks?" she asks again and both notice that her breathing has gotten faster, almost like she's in the middle of a panic attack. "Tell me Marty got away."

Neither one of the men misses that Kensi calls Deeks by his first name. Neither can recall a previous time when she had.

"Please…" she practically begs.

"Kensi…" Sam urges.

"Sam, Callen, tell me he did…"

They both notice that the machines are now going crazy.

"Dammit, I told you not to stress her out," the doctor snaps as he enters the room. "Get out. Get out now."

"No," Kensi calls out, reacting to the loss of Sam's hand. "You have to find him."

"We will," Callen promises before Sam pulls him from the room.

"What happened?" Hetty asks as they exit. Callen is still leaning in, as if trying to see what the doctor is doing to Kensi.

"She asked about Deeks," Sam replies. He chooses not to mention the part about Kensi claiming that she's responsible for the case going bad.

He's been around the block enough to know that emotional confessions while drugged up on pain meds aren't exactly trustworthy.

And he also knows Kensi Blye.

She's one hell of an agent.

Maybe she had made mistakes during the case.

Even the best did from time to time.

But then again, this was clearly more than one mistake.

Something had gone very wrong and it had put one agent in the badly hospital hurt and the other missing in action.

Whether it was because Kensi and Deeks had screwed up or something else, well that was still to be determined.

"All right, she's calm" the doctor says, coming out of the room. He looks directly at Sam and Callen. "Agents, I'm going to be as gentle as I care to be. Go home. There's nothing more any of you can do tonight. She's not going to be receiving any further visitors and we're going to have her on constant watch to ensure there are no complications from the heroin or the head injury. So, please go home. If anything changes, we will call."

"Very well," Hetty says, cutting off any objections from either Sam or Callen. "Gentlemen," she says, directing them to follow her.

"One more thing," the doctor calls out. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and almost compassionate. "I've been dealing with this drug for awhile and most of the cases I get in here tend to end up very badly. If we're very, very lucky, the victims survive, but they're usually out cold for a while. This garbage screws people up real bad. That your agent is awake tonight, even in the state she is, well I have to believe that that's a damned good sign. For whatever that means to you."

"It means everything," Sam tells him.

And it does.

* * *

They're back at the Mission before anyone says a word.

"What did you talk to the doctor about?" Callen asks Hetty as he and Sam enter to find their office manager (God, what an underwhelming title for what Hetty really is to this team, Callen thinks and not for the first time) waiting for them.

How she got back to the Mission before them is a mystery to him. After all, Sam was pushing ninety on the speedometer in his Dodge Charger.

"Hm?" Hetty replies, meeting his eyes.

He's in no mood for this. "You know what I'm talking about. What were you and the doctor discussing in your hush-hush meeting?"

"Oh, that's not important right now." She doesn't add an impatient and dismissive wave of her hand, but she might as well have.

"Hetty," Callen replies, stepping towards her. There's a slight menace to the movement, but if she's intimidated (which is highly unlikely, Sam muses), she sure doesn't show it. "Is there something about Kensi's condition that you're not telling us?"

"You know everything that is important for now," she replies, her voice cool

"So that's a yes?" and now Callen's voice is rising.

"It's neither a yes nor a no, Mr. Callen. Ms. Blye suffered a great amount of trauma this evening. As the doctor said, it's a small miracle that she's in the state she's in considering. As for anything she went through, well she has her own part of this story to tell and thankfully, it appears that she will be able to do so. It's not my place to say anymore than that."

"But it's your place to know more than that, right?" Sam snaps.

"Yes," she says simply. "Now, since the earliest we're going to be able to see and talk to her again is sometime tomorrow afternoon, we have two options – either continue gathering facts or go home and sleep. And might I remind you both that if Detective Deeks is, by the grace of another small miracle, still alive, his clock is likely running down quickly. "

This hits both of the men hard.

While Kensi means more to them, Deeks is one of the team now, too. If Kensi is the tough little sister, Deeks is the bratty little brother.

One of theirs.

And they've already lost too many of theirs.

No need to go down the list and tick off the many names.

"All right," Callen sighs. "We'll do it your way."

"Excellent. Then, let's reconvene upstairs shall we? I'm sure Mr. Beal would like to be updated and I believe he can be of some assistance with certain details."

* * *

Ten minutes after Hetty has made a pot of tea and Sam one of coffee, the team comes back together up in the Ops room. The clock reads two in the morning.

The absence of Kensi and Deeks is noticeable to all.

Normally, they'd be teasing each other, tossing insults back and forth.

Now the room is quiet and moody.

Tense and fearful.

"Mr. Beal," Hetty says softly (she doesn't miss the way he startles). "While you continue running your searches and while we wait for a lead to act upon, we are trying to pull together a full report of what occurred during the operation."

"Okay?" he says, spinning in his chair to face her. "We have most of their journals. At least up until this week. I can start…"

"No, we'll get to those, but I want to stay in the order of events. Your job was to fully backstop Kensi and Deeks, yes?"

"Yes," he nods. "And their covers were good." There's an urgency to his tone, like he's trying to convince her of something that he's suddenly not completely sure of himself. "I made sure that all of their paperwork was solid and their records were exactly as they were supposed to be. I made sure of it myself."

"I have no doubt," she reassures him, hand lightly squeezing his shoulder.

* * *

_One Month Earlier._

_"Shiny new licenses," Eric grins as he swings around in his chair and offers up two California Driver's Licenses. "Right off the uh, proverbial presses."_

_Deeks reaches out and takes his. "James Reese, born in April, twenty-three old. You think I can pass for twenty-three?" He turns to Kensi and flashes a cheesy over-the-top smile. She snorts derisively._

_"Well, you certainly act like a twenty-three year old, that's for sure," she notes, reaching for her own new license. "Huh."_

_"Huh, what?" Deeks asks, leaning over her shoulder. Then he laughs. "Oh, oh, look at you, you're older than me. You cradle robbing cougar."_

_"I am no cougar," she snaps. "I'm the same age I normally am - twenty-six. See?" she holds up the license. Then turns to Eric. "Why am I older than him?"_

_"Fits the profile. Kara Barstow may be an orphan, but she's one that was left a whole lot of money so she's been something of a professional student, jumping around from major to major for awhile." Then he grins. "My touch, you like?"_

_"Love it," Deeks grins. "I like older women."_

_"You're a pig."_

_"And you're a hot cougar."_

_"Do you have any clue what a cougar actually is? I don't think being three years older than you…"_

_"Someone is awfully sensitive about their age," Deeks quips. Then he leans forward. "Don't worry, I think you still look great."_

_"This is your fault," she growls to Eric._

_"It fits the profile, I swear," Eric insists. "Look, both of you are transfers from Arizona State University. You came out to follow Kara's dream of 'making it big' in Hollywood. Mostly though, you just wanted out of Arizona. James is a computer science major and while he's definitely macho when he needs to be, he tends to be in the shadow of his woman."_

_"Of course," Kensi smirks._

_"But?" Deeks prompts._

_"No buts. Leaving Arizona to come to Southern California was Kara's idea. He's a bit aimless right now. Which is a really bad when you mix that with the skeletons he has in his closet."_

_"What kinds of skeletons?"_

_This is a bit weird for Kensi; it's like story time only it's their stories and they need to remember and internalize each and every one of the details._

_"The kind that would appeal to a guy like Paul Sanchez who would be looking for someone to recruit and bring to Kassel."_

_"So he's a junkie?" Kensi asks, eyebrow up._

_"He considers himself more of a casual user who has had a couple run-ins with the cops. He sees no harm in having a good time."_

_"Does Kara know?" Deeks asks. He turns to Kensi and offers up his most innocent smile. She returns the smile with a push of her hand against his shoulder. The contact makes him almost lose his balance and he stumbles a bit. He recovers, smirking at her in response._

_"No. She knows he's tried a few things, but she's pretty much unaware of how much he understands about the drug world. And if she did know, she'd think she could save him anyway."_

_"Oh, so she's that kind of woman."_

_"What kind of woman?" Kensi demands._

_"The kind who thinks she can make her man a better one," Deeks sighs. "Also known as every woman that I've ever dated."_

_"Clearly they've all failed," she fires back._

_"Clearly," he admits. "Alas, my beloved, Kara, I fear that you, too, will fail."_

_"No one actually says 'alas', Deeks."_

_He just smiles at her. "So why is James willing to hook up with Sanchez?"_

_"The usual suspects; money and love. Kara is a high maintenance woman. She likes the high life and James thinks if he doesn't provide for her, she'll leave him."_

_"Women," Deeks mutters. "Want to change you, want your money, but won't…"_

_"I'd stop right there," Kensi warns._

_"Anything you say, dear."_

_Kensi shakes her head at him and then turns her attention back to Eric. She picks up the file on Kara Barstow and flips through it. "Eric, where did you get this character breakdown from?"_

_"I've done a few of these," Eric shrugs. When both Deeks and Kensi look up at him, doubt clear in their eyes, he sighs. "Hetty gave me the basic parameters, I did a write-up and then gave it over to the psychologist the LAPD sent over."_

_"Mike Harrison?" Deeks queries._

_"You know him?"_

_"He's been behind a few of my covers. He's fairly thorough…and creative." He laughs. "Former screenwriter. Only in LA, huh?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Anyway," Eric tells them, "He wrote up a complete dossier for each of you. You have one night to read them over."_

_"Ooh, we better get cracking," Deeks says. Then to Kensi, "Maybe we should practice." Off her icy glare, he quickly adds, "I meant, practice liking each other and being affectionate, you know?"_

_"It's going to take me a lot more than one night for that," Kensi mutters._

_"It had better not," Hetty says as she enters. "One night is all you have, I'm afraid, Ms. Blye."_

_"So we're going in tomorrow?" Kensi asks, all business again._

_"Yes," Hetty replies. "Tomorrow morning, the two of you will be moving into your off-campus apartment. We are releasing Sanchez this evening. On Wednesday, he and James Reese will meet in a class they share. Per what Lt. Sanchez explained earlier this afternoon, he will invite James and his fiancée to a party. At this party, which will occur on Friday, he will actively recruit James."_

_"And in the time between when we move in and I meet Lt. Sanchez and the party?" Deeks asks, though more for Kensi's benefit than his own. He's done deep cover before, he understands the ebbs and flows of it. She's done many a short and spontaneous cover op, but never one where multiple periods of in-character down time had to be absorbed._

_"Go to class, make friends, try to learn as much as possible about how Prince Charming is moving around campus. Kassel's dealers may be the primary pipelines, but there are likely smaller distributions points that have popped up."_

_"That's my part then," Kensi nods. Her mind is whirling, thinking ahead._

_"You sure you're ready for this?" Callen asks suddenly and no one is all that sure where he came from. Just the same though, he's there now, Sam at his side. He's looking at Kensi when he speaks._

_She bristles. "Of course I am, Callen."_

_"Good," he says. "Then stow your rivalry with Deeks. You two want to harass each other and try to get under each other's skin, do it when this is over. While you're James and Kara, you're a couple and that means you actually like each other and want to be near each other."_

_It would be funny if the situation weren't so serious._

_And as a sign of her understanding of just how serious it is, Kensi simply nods._

_"Okay," Callen nods. "Eric, have you gone over surveillance with them yet?"_

_"No." He turns to them. "What we have will be extremely limited. You'll each be wearing watches that have been outfitted with a GPS tracker, and the clothes you wear to the party will be outfitted with transmitters that we can remotely turn on and off. We figure Kassel probably sweeps, but on the off-chance he doesn't, we want to try to get some ears inside."_

_"He'll definitely sweep," Deeks says, more to himself than the others. Then to the rest of the group, by way of explanation, "Kassel hasn't made it as far as he has without being suspicious of newcomers."_

_"Which means you'll have to be careful how much snooping around you do, Deeks," Sam says. "I would leave as much of that to Kensi as possible so that you play the game with Kassel. From everything Sanchez has told us, she's just Kassel's insurance policy. He's likely to not even notice her nosing around a bit."_

_"And since you won't be able to use bugs or wires for the most part, you'll have to stick to journals," Eric says. He pulls out several steno pads and puts them down on the table._

_"Every observation, everything that happens," Callen explains. "Full descriptions. We'll need everything when we bring them to trial. The more detail, the better."_

_It's not lost on Kensi that Deeks has pretty much excused himself from the conversation. He's leaning against the table, listening as the rest of the team gives her advice and instructions._

_"What about our apartment?" she asks._

_"The LAPD is taking care of that part. They rented a place fairly close to the UCLA campus. They're sending over a moving van showing Arizona plates. Our people will be packing it up with stuff for a couple fitting your profiles. It should be here and ready to go at 6AM tomorrow morning. Deeks will drive it to the apartment. You'll be following him in a Honda also showing Arizona plates," Eric informs her._

_"And our guns?"_

_"Those need to stay as hidden as possible," Callen answers. "If you absolutely must keep them in the apartment, find a secure location that could survive a possible search should Kassel send anyone to check James out."_

_"So we're going in functionally unarmed?" Kensi asks and now, for the first time, her unease is starting to show. She realizes that she should have expected this – known this – and yet the idea of not having her trusty Sig nearby gives her more than a bit of trepidation._

_"No one ever said you couldn't carry some kind of weapon," Hetty chuckles. "A knife, pepper spray (at this, Deeks noticeably winces), something small that wouldn't raise eyebrows. But no, not your gun."_

_These words are a small relief to Kensi, but one just the same. She nods slowly._

_"For the same reason, your apartment won't be wired for audio or video," Eric tells her. "We expect that once Sanchez brings Deeks in, Kassel is going to want to run a full background check. He'll be checking out your place trying to make sure it's not a surveillance shop for cops."_

_"No eyes, no ears," Sam says softly._

_"You still in?" Callen asks and it's just short of a dare._

_He should have known better._

_"Of course," she says, meeting his blue eyes with her mismatched dark ones._

_"Good," Hetty says. "Then the two of you should go home, get a good nights sleep. Be back here bright and early."_

_"What about Sanchez?"_

_"G and I will take care of releasing him tonight." He touches his shoulder. "It's all good."_

_She smiles at him, but he can tell that there's some fear in her eyes. Normally, that would worry him; Kensi fears so very little. However now, on the eve of her first deep cover assignment, it's to be expected. She may be amazing and at times just a notch short of a superhero, but she's still human._

_And young._

_Fear is good._

_It keeps your eyes open._

_And in undercover work, fear keeps you from ever assuming you're safe._

_"Okay," she says. "Then I guess I'll go home and study up."_

_"I'll give you a ride," Deeks offers._

_"Didn't you jog in this morning?" Eric asks him._

_"I guess I'll give you a ride," she sighs._

_"Thanks, honey," he grins._

_"Not yet," she growls. And then turns and exits the Ops Center._

_Deeks turns to the others and grins, "She loves me."_

_"She's going to kill you by the end of this," Sam assures him._

_"Hey," he protests. "Maybe I'll kill her. It's not like she's the easier partner in the world, you know."_

_"But she is your partner," Hetty reminds him. "Take care of her."_

_And suddenly no one is joking anymore. Deeks nods slowly. "I will," he assures her solemnly. "Don't worry."_

_

* * *

_

At just before five in the morning, Hetty sends everyone home.

To a man, each protests and reminds her that they are losing time with each moment that they're not out looking for Deeks.

She counters with reminding him that they haven't a clue where to start looking.

She orders the men home, demands that they get at least a few hours of sleep and then once the Mission is silent and still, slips behind her desk and puts her head in her hands.

She's not one to second-guess herself and yet in the last year, this is the second time in which she's wondered if she should walk away from all of this.

Dom was horrible and tragic and yet in a full and honest review, no one on the team could actually be held accountable for his death.

Agent Blye and Detective Deeks, well this is clearly another story altogether.

She thinks about Callen telling her that Kensi wasn't ready.

She wonders if maybe he was right.

She glances across her desk to where a stack of journals sits. She's been reading them as they've come in and so she's mostly aware of what's been going on during the last month.

Up until the last week anyway.

She thinks about her last conversation with Kensi, the morning the operation had launched. Had she missed warning signs? Had she overlooked the obvious?

"No," she says out loud. "She was ready."

* * *

_She yawns as she steps out of her car. Mornings have never been her thing and being up and moving at the ungodly hour of six in the morning is just shy of obscene as far as Kensi Blye is concerned._

_"Red Bull?" she hears an all-too chipper voice say from her side. She turns and sees her partner standing there, looking wide-awake, his hair wet from the morning surf. He's holding two cans in his hand, one already open. "I got you the sugar free variety," he tells her. "To help preserve your girlish figure."_

_She growls in response._

_"Well that's a fine good morning," he huffs. "Drink, it will make you nicer."_

_She takes the can from her, pops the tab, takes a healthy swig and then says, "This is disgusting."_

_"True," he admits. "But it grows on you. Now say thank you for me being considerate enough to think about your well being."_

_"Thank you," she sighs._

_"See, that wasn't so hard."_

_"Deeks."_

_"I think what she means," Callen says as he steps out in the courtyard of the Mission, "Is don't push your luck, Deeks."_

_Deeks just grins in reply._

_"Ms. Blye, a word if you don't mind?" Hetty says, approaching from well…God only really knows when it comes to Hetty._

_"Sure," Kensi replies. She follows Hetty back inside and over to her desk. "Please don't tell me that you're about to ask if I'm ready for this, too."_

_"No, no," Hetty chuckles. "If I didn't think you were, I wouldn't be allowing you to go in."_

_"Good," Kensi says, smiling just a bit._

_"I wanted to give you something. I know it will be quite difficult to be without your firearm, but I thought maybe this could be of use somehow." She offers up a small wonderfully ornate dagger. Its hilt is encrusted with several bright red rubies._

_"Hetty," Kensi breathes. "This must be worth a fortune."_

_"A small one," she admits. "But it has kept me safe more than a few times and I expect that it will find a way to do the same for you."_

_"Thank you."_

_"Of course, my dear."_

_At that moment, Sam approaches. "Moving van and the car are loaded up. Good to go whenever you and Deeks are ready."_

_"No time like the present," Kensi replies with a tight smile._

_"Then let's get this show on the road," Sam says._

_He leads Kensi and Hetty around back of the Mission, to where the many cars of the OSP are parked. Right in front is a dusty looking moving van and an older Honda. Both are packed high with the personal belongings of James Reese and Kara Barstow._

_Deeks and Sam are waiting for them, Deeks leaning casually against the Honda._

_"Ready to go, honey?" he asks, smiling brightly._

_She sighs. "Get off my car, you're going to put a dent in the door."_

_"Aw, our first fight."_

_"Won't be our last," she grumbles as she steps over and pushes him away from the car door. She pulls it open and gets in._

_Callen leans in._

_"What?" she asks._

_"Keeps your wits about you, be on your toes, remember your training, trust your partner and you'll be fine." His words are so solemn that she doesn't dare crack even a nervous joke in response. She simply nods._

_He steps away from the car._

_She takes a breath and shuts the car door._

_

* * *

_

Marty Deeks has been high on drugs more than a few times in his life.

When he was a teenager going nowhere fast.

When he was a college kid trying to stay awake long enough to pass his law classes.

When he was an LAPD undercover agent playing the role of a dealer.

He remembers a time when he'd enjoyed the rush of delirium and delusion. He thinks about moments of lying on his bed staring up at swirling colors.

And then he remembers waking up on the floor of his dorm room one morning, completely unaware of what had happened in the eight hours previous.

That had been the end of his recreational use.

Also the end of his law career, but that's a thought for another day (assuming he has another day, that is).

The end of his law career had become the beginning of his law enforcement one.

So now, when he uses, he does so in order to keep his cover, whatever it be.

It's a choice he made when he started doing this job – do whatever it takes to catch the bad guy, clean up afterwards.

So far, he's been tremendously lucky.

He's managed to pretend mostly and then only dabble when he has no choice.

Right now, he quite literally has no choice.

And he's not dabbling.

He feels the heroin in his veins and he has a vague idea that this is some form of torture. They could have killed him a thousand times over if they'd wanted to.

Instead, for the last twelve hours, all they've done is beat him, inject him, let him rest and then repeat the cycle.

They're giving him just enough to get him high.

Which is making him see and hear all sorts of crazy things.

His father screaming at him.

His mother pleading him to please, oh please just do what his father wants him to.

Gunshots in the darkness.

His arms around a woman, dark hair tickling his nose.

A sound of a pained scream.

A wet thick thud.

And then an explosion of colors.

He has no idea what their end game is.

The two times he's managed to gasp out a question, they've both been about his partner. "Where is she?" he'd asked the first time, praying to God (albeit stupidly) that maybe somehow, she'd gotten away.

Which is a strange hope really because in the middle of all of his drug induced visions, he's positive that he sees one where a bloodied Kensi is being dragged out of a room.

Still, he asked the question anyway.

The first time, the man with the needle (a man he thinks that maybe he recognizes through his drug addled haze) had laughed.

The second time, he'd simply and with a smile replied, "Dead."

The word rolls around in his brain, heavy and painful.

After all they've been through…dead.

It's unthinkable. It's unbearable.

Kensi…dead.

He assumes that's to be his eventual fate as well.

For now, though, his captors (he has a strong sense that he knows who has him, but he's struggling to be able to connect two thoughts together in the delusional state he's in) seem to be enjoying themselves by seeing how much he can take.

As his consciousness fades away again, the shadows of his minds creeping inwards, he can't help but wonder the same thing.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Once again, much thanks for all of the positive comments. This one is going to be a long one so belt in and be patient with me as we go along. Starting this chapter, it's going to steadily pick up in intensity. Please be forewarned.  
**

**I want to make a quick comment about the theme of this story. This piece is more about the K/D partnership and their friendship and what they are willing to do for each other. It's also about the nature of a team and what a team will do for their mates. So, even if you're not a Kensi/Deeks fan, I hope there is still much to enjoy here.**

**Last thing, this story takes place after the events of 2x10 - Deliverance. It's not a direct follow-up to that, but it does mention some of what happened in the ep.**

**J, you're really up, my friend.**

**

* * *

**

_It's late at night (at least she thinks it must be because it's so terribly dark.) She's not sure why, but she's walking down an impossibly long hallway. _

_She has a feeling that she knows where she is – it's familiar – but it seems strange, somehow distorted. Her footsteps sound large, insanely magnified. _

_She stops, looks down at her feet and sees that they are bare, but when she starts moving again, the loud echoing footsteps (the kind that can only be created by heavy boots) return._

"_Kensi," she hears a man whisper._

_She turns. It takes her a moment, but she recognizes the voice._

"_Deeks?"_

"_In here!" he practically screams._

_She looks around and sees a closed door. _

_She stares at it for a moment, quite sure that it wasn't there mere seconds earlier. Her feet suddenly feel heavy, like something is keeping her from moving. When she looks down at them, she notices that there are cuts on them, the kind you get from being dragged across a hard surface._

"_Kensi," her partner calls out to her. "Please."_

_There's urgency in his tone and maybe fear. It's enough to force her forward._

_She puts her hand on the doorknob and turns it. The door creaks and slides open, presenting her with nothing more than a thin slice of bright white light._

"_Deeks," she whispers._

"_Hurry," he says and his voice sounds very odd to her, hoarse and pained._

"_Hold on," she urges._

_She shoves the door inwards and as she does, it's almost like the bright white light overtakes her. She puts her hands up as if to shield her eyes._

_And then it feels like something inside of her explodes, causing every nerve to come cry out in agony._

_She hears a horrible scream._

_It occurs to her that she has no idea whether it belongs to her or him._

_

* * *

_She slides in and out of restless sleep for much of the night, her dreams strange and confusing. She tries to clutch at the images she sees, tries to figure out what she's seeing and what they might mean, but every time she steps through the door and into the bright white light, the screaming starts anew.

It occurs to her halfway through the night that there are tears on her cheeks and she doesn't know if it it's the pain, the fear or the loss that is causing them.

She hears a nurse whispering nonsense words to her, hears the doctor telling her that she's doing good and to just to continue being strong. He tells her that there are people who care about her and to concentrate on that.

She wants to laugh, but finds none of this very funny at all.

She hurts. Every bone, every muscle.

Normally, the doctors would have drugged her up with as many pain killers as they could – her injuries certainly justify it. However, the heroin still coursing through her system makes giving her anything for the pain an unacceptable risk.

And so she tries to gut it through.

There are moments that are unbearable and there are some when she's sure that her system is simply so overwhelmed by the pain that it's refusing to register anything at all. Those are the times when she feels numb and almost out of body.

Those are the times when she's sure that she's losing her mind. Everything around her spins and she struggles to figure out such simple things as what her name is. So many people that she has been and for moments during the night, she's certain that she's all of them.

She's certain that she's having a complete mental breakdown.

And so when sleep finally creeps towards her like smoke in the air and she finds herself reaching out for it almost greedily.

But every single time she closes her eyes, pressing them tightly together, trying to seal them against the sharp pain radiating through her skull, she sees a series of horrific images flash through her mind.

No, not images…memories.

Memories of hell.

* * *

Hetty sleeps in her chair, sitting straight up. It's a skill she'd learned many years before. She thinks maybe in North Korea, but it's possible she picked it up in Iran. Or maybe some other hellhole somewhere on the other side of the world.

When she comes to, it's a few minutes before nine in the morning and she knows that it won't be long before the others are in.

Frankly, she's a bit surprised that they're not here already.

She checks her cell phone and sees that there are six messages waiting from Director Vance. She needn't bother listening to any of them; she knows what he wants – answers.

Don't they all.

She makes herself a cup of lemon tea and then pulls out a journal and puts it on the desk in front of her. She touches her pointer finger over the edge of it, the tip tracing over the simple glue binding.

She thinks of another book – a not quite little black one.

That one had nearly gotten Kensi and Deeks killed as well.

That one (disguised as the Red Badge of Courage) is hidden away in her safe deposit box. It can't hurt anyone else (at least for now anyway).

But this little book now sitting on her desk – it has many more secrets and much more pain yet to offer.

This little book can explain why one of her agents is fighting for her life in a hospital bed and the other is missing in action.

She opens the journal and looks down at the small, but neat print – block letters full of perfectly straight angles – belonging to Detective Deeks.

She opens a second journal and observes the messier handwriting of Agent Blye. Some of her letters loop and slide together – it's mostly readable, but a few words take a moment or two to figure out and decipher.

She already knows what Callen will ask when she proposes continuing to go through the journals.

"You've already read these, why do we have to do it again?"

Her answer is simple: because every detail is a piece of the puzzle.

In her experience, all undercover ops are something of a puzzle and all puzzles offer up a thousand small pieces that come together to create the whole.

Some are simple, some are complex.

She's sure that this one is the latter.

Which means that the more eyes she can get on the words of Detective Deeks and Agent Blye, the better.

She opens the first journal that Deeks had turned in – the beginning page has notes about the night before the op. Notes about how he and Kensi had worked out their characters together.

* * *

"_Wait, why are we here?" Deeks asks as they pull up in front of Kensi's apartment building. He had been expecting her to take him back to his own place on the opposite side of town._

"_I figured we should get on the same page," she replies simply. She parks the car in the underground garage. _

"_Usually works best," he confirms._

"_Right," she answers coolly and then gets out of the car. "Come on."_

_He cocks his head to the side, slightly concerned. He's been around this woman enough to know when she's bothered by something._

"_Everything okay?" he asks._

"_Sure," she says, leading him towards an upstairs unit at the back of the building. She can probably afford something better – maybe even a house – but work doesn't give her a lot of time to look around and to be honest, there's something that terrifies her about setting down somewhat permanent roots._

_So for now, the apartment building it is._

_She opens the door and then steps aside to allow him entry._

_Immediately, and probably unwisely, he laughs._

"_Have something you want to say?" she growls._

"_No! It's just…you're a…"_

"_Careful," she warns, eyes narrowed._

"_Right." Then, because it's simply not his style to not annoy her when he has the opportunity, he finishes with, "You're a bit of a packrat aren't you?"_

"_Deeks."_

"_You know, when you say my name like that, it makes me think you hate me."_

"_I do."_

"_I'm hurt."_

"_Not yet."_

"_You keep threatening that. I would have thought that after I saved you from being blown to pieces…"_

"_That's low, Deeks, even for you."_

_He opens his mouth and then laughs. "You're right. I should save that for later – when I can get the most bang for my buck. So to speak anyway."_

"_Want a beer?" she asks him tightly, clearly wanting to change the subject._

_He's not surprised. He imagines that she probably dreams about that room and those damn lasers. He knows that he does. He's nearly died a thousand times he figures, but there were something intimate about how close they both were to meeting the Grim Reaper._

_And he figures that she probably knows that the only reason he was that close at all was because he came to save her. Just as he knows that the only reason she was that close was because he let her be taken by the Russians._

_Kind of works both ways this crazy partnership thing._

"_Sure," he says._

_He wishes sometimes that he could explain himself to her. She probably thinks he's making light of what had happened with the Russians. Far from it; it's just that he deals with almost everything with jokes and sarcasm. It's just his way._

"_Okay," she responds and then heads into the kitchen. While she's gone, he looks around the living room. It's messy, but comfortable. His eyes light on a picture of a man wearing Marine Corps dress blues and a teenage girl._

"_Here," she says suddenly, sliding in front of him, holding two already opened bottles of beer in her hands. He wonders if she's intentionally blocking him from looking at the picture._

"_You know," he tells her as he takes one of the bottles from her, "We've talked a lot about trust, and I kind of thought with everything that's happened, we finally had it."_

_She stares at him for a moment, a bit surprised that he's brought this subject back up. Or maybe she's surprised that he's actually being fairly serious._

"_We do," she insists._

"_Then what's going on? What's bothering you?" He lowers his voice just a bit, allows for the slightest hint of pleading. He needs her to understand that he's here for her and that he probably understands what she's going through._

_She takes a thoughtful swig from her beer and for a moment, says nothing. Then, quietly, "What if he's right?"_

"_Callen, you mean?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Why do you think he is?"_

"_I didn't say I did."_

"_Kensi..."_

"_It's just…when we do short covers, I'm good at them. Sometimes, I'm great, but I don't always…I hate…I hate lying."_

"_Kind of an odd job profession to have chosen considering."_

"_But it's not that. I don't mind lying to scum bags, but problem is, they're not the only ones we deal with. I can deal with pretending I'm someone different for a guy like Kassel, but what about the kids I'll be going to class with? What about the ones who might get pulled into the middle of this just because I'm trying to pretend that I'm just a regular college girl who wants to be friends?"_

"_Collateral damage," he tells her and tries to make it clear his tone that he's not any happier about it than she is._

"_Yeah," she sighs. "That's the part I hate."_

_He steps forward and for a moment, considers reaching out and touching her, but then pulls up short. _

_All bantering and teasing aside, their relationship is in a good place right now, but it seems to him that considering the roles that they're going to have to play going forward, there's going to be more than enough line crossing ahead for both of them and he wants to give her the space she needs for now._

_So instead, from a few feet away, "If you tell anyone that I said this, I'll deny it, but you are one of the best that I have ever worked with. You're ready for this. We both are. We're going to go in, play our roles and put Kassel behind bars."_

"_Just that easy, huh?" she asks and he sees a hint of a smile lifting up the corners of her lips._

"_Easy peasy."_

_She laughs. "Thanks," she says. And then, meeting his deep blue eyes with her own dark mismatched ones, she adds, "For everything."_

_He knows that she's talking about what happened with the bomb. _

_Now he's the one wanting to change the subject because no matter how he pretends otherwise, he's still not resolved about his role in the drama that unfolded with the Russians and all of the other foreign operatives. _

_Callen may have insisted that as the team leader, he was the one at fault, but Deeks isn't quite sure that he buys that._

_And in that moment, standing across from Kensi in her messy Living Room, he makes himself a very dangerous promise (the kind he should know better than to make) and insists (even in his own head) that he won't let her partner come to any harm during this case._

"_So," he says, taking a swig from his own beer. "Kara and James, are they the kind who can't keep their hands off each other?" And now he's grinning at her, intentionally hiding his own fears (and his promise to himself) away from her._

_He knows that she sees right through him._

_But whatever is still going on in her own mind – whatever fears and doubts she's still harboring about her ability to do this job – it's enough to keep her from pushing at him. So, instead, she laughs, "No," she tells him. _

"_Oh come on," he insists. "I think they should be cuddlers."_

_She groans, but even in that, he can see that she's amused._

_He figures, that's a good place for them to start this op._

_

* * *

_

"Morning," Hetty hears from somewhere above her. The voice (likely Callen's) pulls her out of her thoughts about Kensi's pre-op concerns (she continues to steadfastly believe that Kensi had, in fact, been ready. And she still maintains that had her youngest agent not been ready, well then she never would have been sent in in the first place).

She looks up slowly. "Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna."

They enter together, both looking exhausted. Callen is wearing a wrinkled gray workout sweatshirt; Sam is in a freshly laundered long sleeved red shirt.

"Did you sleep?" she asks them.

"Sure," Sam replies.

"Like a baby," Callen answers.

"Of course," she nods, not buying it for a moment. "Is Mr. Beale behind you?"

"Yes," Eric says as he comes in, yawning.

"Good. Then let's begin." She holds up two journals – one belonging to Deeks and the other Kensi. She doesn't miss the nervous shifting the men do, knows that they're all wondering why they're wasting time.

She could remind them that they still have no idea where to start looking for Detective Deeks, but knows her words will be wasted on them.

So instead, for now, she focuses them on gathering together pieces of the puzzle. Starting with day one of the op.

Hetty turns to Eric. "Put Day 1 on the screen, Eric."

Eric clicks two buttons on his data pad and the scanned in journals come up on the LCD screen in front of the quartet.

* * *

_Deeks gets to their new apartment first and can't help, but laugh. It's small, befitting two young adults without a lot of their own money. Per the profile, Kara has some of her inheritance still left, but it's not enough to continue allowing for them both to not only go to school, but to also live in style._

_Walking around the apartment – which is only about five miles away from the UCLA campus – he takes in the touches of uniqueness that the tiny abode offers – a fair sized kitchen, a slightly lowered living room and a long almost dramatic hallway leading back to two entirely too small bedrooms._

"_It looked better in the pictures," Kensi says as she enters, carrying a small box in her arms. She's smiling brightly at him and for a moment, it throws him. Kensi isn't the kind to sulk or wear a sour expression, but nor does she usually allow for such open displays of happiness._

_Then again, he reminds himself, right now, she isn't Kensi Blye. Right now, this is Kara Barstow and she's an entirely different girl. _

"_It's fine," he shrugs back, completely non-committal. James isn't the kind of guy to care much what his home looks like. Long as he has a safe place to close his eyes at night, he's pretty much good to go._

"_Sure," she says, still brightly. "A couple pictures, some paint and I think we can give it some flair and fun." He sees her lift her hand to brush her hair back and his eyes catch on the engagement ring that she's wearing. While not big or overly expensive, it is a bit dramatic, certainly not the kind that Kensi would wear._

_Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers hearing that his partner had been engaged at a time. Or maybe had been considering it. Something like that._

"_Whatever you say, babe. Far as I'm concerned, we only need four walls and a bed," he tells her, just a touch of impishness to his tone._

_Before she can respond, he steps towards her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. For just the briefest of moments, he feels her stiffen up. He covers for her by dipping his head into her neck and nuzzling, his thick facial hair scratching against her soft skin._

_He almost wants to laugh when his typically unflappable partner can't even manage to get more than a grunt out._

_Finally, recovering, a slight tremble in her voice, she whispers, "Later, honey."_

"_Promise?"_

"_Oh, hey, I'm sorry," a voice says from behind them. Deeks doesn't miss the flash of relief that shoots across Kensi's face._

_They both turn to see a young college kid with sandy blonde hair watching them. Truth be told, Deeks had seen the boy standing outside of another door just across the courtyard when Kensi had come into the apartment._

_Kensi gives him a look, telling him that now she understands why he'd put on the sudden display of affection – it hadn't been just about taking advantage of a weird situation and trying to throw her a bit of kilter._

_Well, maybe it had been just a little bit about that._

_After all, they're on the clock of the op now, but there aren't really any important eyes on them just yet._

"_I don't mean to interrupt," the kid continues. "You guys just moving in today?"_

"_Yep," Kensi answers cheerfully, having completely recovered her senses and slipped fully into her role. "I'm Kara and that's James."_

"_Tony," the boy says. "Nice to meet you."_

_They shake hands (Deeks notices that Kensi makes sure to let Tony see her engagement ring and he has to admit, he's a bit impressed – Kara is exactly the kind of girl who wants everyone to know that she's getting married)._

_Tony points back towards his apartment._

"_Me and my roomie got the place right over there. Been here for about two years. This complex is pretty quiet for the most part, but it can get wild during the weekends every now and again."_

"_Sounds like fun," Deeks grins._

"_Party at your place?" Kensi asks._

_He laughs. "Not always. Mostly it's just a matter of who decides to throw it that night. Maybe I'll see you guys one of these times, huh?"_

"_Count on it," Deeks replies._

"_Cool. Catch ya later." And with that, he turns and heads back to his place. They watch him until he's back inside, the door closing behind him._

"_Good opportunity for James to do some dealing," Deeks says low and under his breath. It's only because Kensi is standing so close to him that she hears him._

_She nods her agreement. Then, "So, looks like we have some unpacking to do."_

"_And here I was thinking naptime," Deeks yawns. _

"_Not if you want that later we were talking about before," she shoots back suggestively. Then, in response to the amusement and surprise she sees on his face, she winks at him and heads back towards the parking lot, where her Honda is next to the moving van. She opens her car up and lifts out a large box (she hasn't a clue what it's inside – the operations guys prepped these)._

"_Hey, you want me to get that for you, babe?" Deeks asks, coming around behind her. He lowers his head and hovers his mouth just over her shoulder._

"_Yes," she hisses. "That'd be nice."_

"_Anything for you, my sweet," he grins and then takes the box from her._

_She grabs another box and follows him back in, fighting hard to curb the urge to give him a quick hard kick to the shin._

_

* * *

_

_They operate like this for the next hour, unpacking her car and the moving van, taking time to openly flirt and show off affection for each other. They're careful to try to make it look as organic as possible. After all, despite Kensi's initial insistence that James and Kara are not cuddlers, they had both agreed that they would be the type of couple that like to touch each other a lot, but they wouldn't be into massive displays of public affection such as kissing – unless Kara is trying to show him off – which she is prone to do on occasion. _

_Once everything is unpacked and the door is closed and locked tight behind them, Deeks turns to his partner. "Once we get on Kassel's radar, it won't be safe to talk in here, but for right now, we're okay. After he checks me out, he'll probably bug this place and we won't be able disable them with letting them know that we're cops."_

"_Which means that anytime we're in the apartment, we'll have to be completely James and Kara," Kensi finishes._

"_Right."_

_She nods her understanding. They had spoken of this previously, but it's a good reminder of timelines and expectations._

"_What are you doing?" he asks, noticing that her dark eyes are flickering around the apartment."_

"_I'm doing a threat assessment," she tells him. She points to the door. "Cheap wood, I could kick through without much effort. And the lock is pretty weak, too – five – hell, three - seconds and I'm in."_

"_Yes," Deeks agrees. "But other people aren't like you and it would look kind of odd if we replaced our front door and put in five bolt locks."_

"_True," she chuckles, still looking around._

_This place isn't much for protection, but it's completely believable for their covers and that is, of course, the most important part._

"_So, now comes the uncomfortable part," Deeks tells her, drawing her attention back to him._

_She cocks her head to the side._

"_Sleeping arrangements."_

"_Oh."_

_It occurs to her that that was one of the things that they hadn't discussed on the previous evening._

_He grins._

"_What?" _

"_Nothing."_

_She almost scolds him with a "Deeks" but stops short; she needs to get out of the habit of calling him by his actual name. She needs to start calling him James as much as possible – it'll make it much easier to not screw up if she gets distracted or flustered by whatever the case might throw at them._

_Instead, she purses her lips and tries to throw him her most disapproving glare._

_He laughs in response. It's enough to make her want to punch him again._

_She steps towards him. "Honey…"_

"_Anyone ever tell you that you make the word 'honey' sound like a threat?"_

"_Mm. Imagine that. Can we focus?"_

"_Of course."_

"_So?"_

"_Well, it's just, we have two rooms right now and I can certainly sleep in one tonight and you the other, but we're just delaying the inevitable."_

"_Oh, this is so weird," she sighs._

"_It gets easier," he assures her and there's some gentleness and compassion in his tone. He can still recall his first deep cover – it had been all kinds of scary and strange and uncomfortable._

_After awhile, it had gotten easier – it really had._

_Still, this was a different kind of strange and uncomfortable._

_He had never gone undercover with someone like Kensi before._

_Someone who was more than just a working partner, but also something of a friend. _

_Jess Trainer had been his handler – they had worked together on the case involving the traffickers, but not like this._

_And that hadn't exactly ended well anyway._

"_So what's the best way?" she asks him, deferring to his experience._

"_Well, the best way is for us to play the part completely. From day one."_

"_Okay," she nods. She'd considered asking him what he meant by that, but then decided that she doesn't really want the answer just yet. "I guess we're sharing."_

"_I promise, I'll be a gentleman," he assures her._

"_I know you will," she answers and for once, she's being dead serious, trying to let him know that she believes him. And she does.  
_

_

* * *

_

_By the time midnight comes around, both of them are exhausted and yet neither has made any move towards the bedroom._

_They've managed to unpack most of the boxes to find an assortment of mismatched dishes as well as clothing (Kensi is nearly horrified to realize that according to the guys in Operations, Kara has a liking for pink) and the other kinds of stuff that a couple would likely bring from Arizona._

_The bedroom is the room at the far end of the hallway – the other room is set up as something of a messy office – a shoddy desk off to the side._

_In the front room, they have an old couch that looks like it was picked up in a yard sale. It's colorful and dramatic, though; the kind of thing that a woman like Kara would gravitate towards._

_Now that everything is unpacked, they're both sitting on the couch, cartons of mostly empty Chinese in front of them. The TV is on, showing some terrible horror movie from the early eighties._

_At just before one in the morning, Deeks finally stands up and yawns. "You about ready to turn in?"_

" _Sure. I'll be back in a few minutes," she says. "I want to clean up and lock up."_

"_You're going to clean up?"_

"_Keep it up," she tells him. "Don't think you're safe just because I have to pretend to like you."_

"_Wouldn't dream it," he assures her. "Goodnight, my sweet."_

"_You're not going to stop calling me that, are you?"_

"_Probably not."_

"_Uh huh. Go to bed."_

_He grins at her again and then turns and heads towards the back. After a minute, she hears the shower go on._

_She dumps the empty cartons of Chinese food into the trash and then does another once over of the apartment, walking over to the windows and placing her hands against them. Though the glass is weak, the seal is solid – no one is coming in unless they do it by violent force._

_It hits her once again that she's missing her trusty Sig._

_Right now, that gun is sitting in her locker back at the Mission._

_She thinks about the knife that Hetty gave her. It's in her purse right now._

_She's suddenly hit by the terrible feeling that the knife is going to get use before this case is over._

_It's not just a feeling – it's a certainty._

_

* * *

_

_Deeks is already in the bed when she gets back to the room at the far end of the long hallway. He's wearing loose-fitting red and black flannel pants and a white tee-shirt. "Saved you some hot water," he tells her._

_She almost replies that she prefers to shower in the morning, but somehow it seems wrong to share a bed with this man for the first time (no matter the reason) still a bit sweaty from having spent much of the day moving boxes._

"_Thanks," she replies, opening the closet and pulling out her sleeping clothes._

"_You like the left or right side?" he asks._

"_Hm?"_

"_Of the bed."_

_She turns to face him. "Oh, uh…"_

"_No, don't tell me. You sleep in the middle, right? All spread out."_

_She blushes just a bit and then mutters, "Take whatever side you want."_

_She's pretty sure she can hear him laughing even through the closed bathroom door. She turns on the shower to drown him out._

_

* * *

_

_Her shower takes much longer than his did, partially because she's hoping that he'll fall asleep while she's in the bathroom._

_This is a bit strange for her – she's a woman who typically very at ease with her sexuality. No, she's never worked deep cover before but she's worked enough short covers to have been put in situations that required her to pretend to be in some way or another intimate with either a partner or in some cases, a suspect._

_Working off someone like Callen is easy for the most part. _

_Playing off a suspect is harder, but sometimes easier to rationalize out in her mind. Then, it's completely acting. It's a strange thing at times, though – she's had to kiss men that she plans to be putting behind bars by the end of the night. _

_Still, no matter what those situations have been, they've always been short-term in nature. Some casual flirting, a quick seduction._

_This is something completely different and it's taking some time to get it all worked out and put together in her mind._

_She once again thinks about Callen telling her that she'd have to be willing to do anything and everything to keep cover – no matter what it be._

_She reminds herself that it's the job._

_She reminds herself that she told everyone that she could handle this._

_She remembers Deeks telling her that he believes she can._

_She's never needed anyone to give her validation, but it's nice to have just the same – especially from her partner._

_

* * *

_

_Wearing pajama bottoms and a white rib-tank, her hair still wet, she exits the bathroom and is relieved to discover that Deeks has indeed, fallen asleep. _

_She can't quite help herself from smiling._

_He's lying slightly on his side, facing away from the middle of the bed, his shaggy mane (which is still a bit damp itself) going every which way. He's stretched out, his feet protruding from beneath the disturbingly colorful blankets._

_She walks around to the right side of the bed and crawls in. She notices that he's placed a pillow between them. It's a nice if completely unnecessary gesture. Just the same, she appreciates it._

_She pulls the blankets over her and then makes sure that he's still covered up._

_She doesn't sleep that night._

_She doesn't realize that he doesn't either – he just pretends better._

_

* * *

_

Around eleven in the morning, the Doctor tells her that they're going to take her down to have an MRI done on her head. She can tell by the seriousness of his tone that he's concerned that she might have some degree of brain damage.

If she could get her eyes – or her brain – to focus for longer than five minutes at a time, she might consider arguing with him.

She feels the gurney she's on being rolled down the hallway. Thankful that the pillow her head is rested again is quite soft, her eyes are on the ceiling. When they enter a brightly lit corridor, she averts her eyes.

And that's when she sees the man leaning bent over the water fountain. He meets her eyes and she's sure for a moment that she recognizes him. When she looks again, however, he's gone.

Or maybe he was never there to begin with. She simply can't be sure.

When the orderlies lift her up onto the cold slab and then slide it in so that she is almost completely inside the tube, she feels her heart began to pound.

The Doctor pleads with her to calm down, but certainly, everything is swirling again and she falls like she's falling into nothing, but darkness.

When she wakes up an hour later, she realizes (much to her embarrassment) she'd passed out inside the machine.

"Hey," the nurse says as she comes into the room.

"What happened?"

"You had a bit of a panic attack," the nurse replies softly. "Completely understandable after all you've been through."

If Kensi were any more in her right mind, she'd be annoyed by the sugary sweet voice the nurse is using. As is, it's hard to focus or care much about the nurse.

"When can I go home?" she asks, wincing as a fresh wave of agony crashes through her. She figures that she could be in this much pain back in the comfort and safety of her own apartment.

The nurse laughs. Then, realizing that Kensi is dead serious, she says, "Not until you're a lot better, honey."

And suddenly, she caught in another memory. It hits her like a runaway train, causing the room she's in to fade away completely.

"_Honey, I'm home," she hears him call out from the Living Room. Recognizing his voice, she swallows back on the flare of panic that had shot through her when she'd heard the front door open._

_She's leaning against the dresser, palms flat against the wood, looking up into the mirror. Her hair is wet and her skin rubbed clean. _

_She hears his footsteps down the hallway and then his reflection in the mirror as he enters the room. He looks tired and hassled._

"_Hey," he says, stepping towards her. When she doesn't respond, he puts a hand on both of her shoulders._

_The moment, he does, she shrugs them away and turns to face him. He's visibly started to see tears on her cheeks._

_She sees him open his mouth and the beginning of her real name start on his lips. It takes a Herculean effort for him to remember that the apartment is bugged and thus stop himself from ruining their cover._

_Instead, he whispers, "What's wrong?"_

_Looking up at him with anger and defiance burning in her dark eyes, she replies, "I did what I had to."_

Kensi blinks and suddenly, she's back in the hospital room, laid out on the bed, the nurse staring at her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah…I…I'm fine."

"Who's Deeks?" the Nurse asks her.

"What?"

"You said his name. It is a him, yes?"

"Yes," she replies. And then says no more, instead letting her eyes go back to the ceiling. The nurse gets the hint and exits the room,

Kensi thinks about whatever the flash she just saw was. Surely a memory. She has no idea what it means. Her mind is too foggy and confused; she's struggling to remember where she was ten minutes ago much less five days ago.

And yet she knows that whatever that moment was, it was when everything had spun completely out of control.

It was when the whole op had gone straight to hell.

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: And the plot thickens as it were. Thanks for all of the kind comments. **

**For those who have asked, right now, my update schedule is once every two weeks. The reason for that is that I prefer fewer long chapters over many short ones so in a two week period, I'll give you 6-7-8K words (though I won't always guarantee this - there could be a much shorter chapter if that feels appropriate and right at time). And I get to break (and tell) the story the way I want to. I hope that explains my logic - or at least what serves as logic in my head.**

**Hope you enjoy - now on with the show.**

**

* * *

**

He's not sure how long they've had him (a short time he figures, maybe a day or so), but he's also not sure whether it's day or night.

They're holding him in a tiny little bedroom with no windows that's about the size of a prison cell. It's furnished with only a filthy full sized mattress and the surprisingly sturdy wooden chair that he's tightly bound to.

Every now and again, the heavy wooden door opens and two burly men enter. The first one checks his pulse and his eyes. Then, the second one starts asking questions about other LAPD and NCIS operations around Los Angeles.

He tells them nothing, but that doesn't stop them from asking.

Or hitting.

Every time he replies in a way they don't like (which to be honest, is almost every single time they ask a question - either because of obstinacy or because he's simply too high to think straight) the first man hits him as hard as he can. Sometimes it's across the face, but mostly it's right into the ribcage.

Then, the second man starts asking questions again.

Sometimes he asks in English, other times in Spanish. Deeks isn't completely sure why the Spanish, but he assumes that his interrogator is so caught up in what he's doing that he doesn't realize that he's jumping languages.

Apparently, the son of a bitch really enjoys his job – enough to get carried away by it. It'd almost be kind of sweet if it wasn't so damned painful.

It goes on like this for what seems like hours.

For a while, Deeks wonders why they want to know what they want to know. What do they care if the LAPD is running an op on a gun smuggler in West Hollywood? But then, as the high starts to dissipate and he starts to _really_ feel the pain snaking through him, he stops caring about their motivations.

It's at this point when he realizes that he's in trouble. And a lot of it.

He's been watching this drug - this ironically titled Prince Charming - work the streets for the last six months and he's seen the way it ravages the kids who think that they're strong enough to be able to just use it in a recreational way. He's seen good young men and women destroy their lives completely just for a quick high.

He knows from both professional and personal experience that all hardcore drugs can be like that, but there's something so hideously addictive about this one that's it almost unfair.

It's almost like no one has a chance.

He hears the door open and then soft, but oddly deliberate footsteps. Still coughing up blood from the last right hook to the jaw (that one had taken a chunk out of the inside of his lip), he doesn't lift his eyes.

"Leave us," a cold voice says.

"Yes, sir," one of the men replies.

The door closes again and then Deeks feels his new visitor step towards him. A moment later, there's a cool (and well moisturized) hand touching his face, lifting his chin up. He forces a smile when he sees Christopher Kassel standing above him, dressed impeccably in a charcoal dark suit and silver tie.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Deeks?"

Deeks laughs, wincing as he does. "I have to give you credit, man, you really are hands on, aren't you?"

"Hands on, hm, interesting choice of words considering. But yes, Detective, I like to think so. Now, I understand that you've been quite resistant to the questions that my friends have been asking you, is that true?" Kassel notes, checking his nails as he speaks.

"Guilty as charged," Deeks confirms, meeting Kassel's dark eyes. It takes every bit of fight in him to keep his gaze even and still. He refuses to break it no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much it hurts him not to.

"I admire your nerve, Detective. And your bravery, too," Kassel tells him, breaking the stare-down first. He turns his back on Deeks and looks around the dirty little room. He eyes it with obvious distaste.

"I can't tell you how happy that makes me," Deeks answers sarcastically.

"I admired your partner's nerve and bravery as well," Kassel replies, turning to face Deeks, a small smile playing across his lips.

It's like a switch is thrown inside of Deeks. Where as before, his replies had all been about exhausted defiance, now he's furious and close to murderous.

"Shut up," he growls.

"But then, I admired many, many parts of her." Kassel pauses for effect, smirking lecherously and then: "Tell me, Detective, did you enjoy her, too?"

Deeks doesn't even think about it, just lunges forward. The binds he's in hold him fast, though and he barely budges. Instead, he's bent forward, teeth bared, looking more than a little insane.

"Shut the fuck up," he demands again.

Kassel laughs. "I'll take that as a yes. You know, it surprises me, but I must admit, it was a shame killing her."

"It won't be a shame killing you," Deeks throws back.

Kassel steps towards him, "Do you know what it's like to watch the life seep out of someone? Especially someone so strong and vibrant? It's…it's horrifying and beautiful and…" he looks down at his hands and then adds quietly, "Amazing."

"I will rip you apart," the blonde cop whispers, tears stinging his eyes.

"Really? You think you're going to kill me? You've watched too many movies. No, no, you'll never have the opportunity; you're never leaving this room."

"It's going to get awfully rank in here then," Deeks replies. The anger is still flowing through him like a river, but he doesn't quite know how to not use sarcasm as his sharpest weapon.

"Perhaps, but that's your problem, not mine. Now, here's how it's going to go for you; it might take a week, maybe two, maybe even a month or two, but once I've decided that you've given me all the information you can – or will – I'll have my men inject you with a fatal dose of the Prince Charming and then, if I'm nice enough, I'll make sure that your friends find your body just like they found hers."

"You might as well just save yourself the time and trouble and do it now then because there isn't a chance in hell that I'll tell you anything. Ever."

"You know, I think you actually even believe that," Kassel notes. "Tell me, though, how's the pain?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Deeks replies, gritting his teeth through the waves of pain that are beginning to turn into a tsunami.

And of course, Kassel sees right through him.

"Really? All right, well let's see."

And then without warning, he slams his balled fist into Deek's gut. There a dry harsh crack and then an ice cold rush of agony floods through him.

Kassel steps away from him. "You see, the drug you've been on has dulled the pain, but it really only works if it's fresh in you. And when it's not, you'll feel not only the pain of your injuries but also the pain of withdrawal. I understand the withdrawal pangs are pretty brutal." He leans in closer. "That's where we can help each other, Detective. You're going to die sooner rather than later, but I can make your last few days on this Earth as painless as possible."

"Fuck off."

Kassel laughs. "You and your lovely partner must have made quite the team." He heads for the door of the room. "Think about it, Detective. You're going to give in eventually – why delay it and be in such…terrible pain?"

And with that, he exits, the door shutting and locking behind him.

Deeks falls back against the chair, breathing hard.

Kassel is right – the pain is monstrous. And growing worse by the moment and with each labored breath that he takes.

But then he thinks about Kensi and about the terrible things that Kassel did to her. He thinks about what the maniac had said about having watched Kensi's life seep out of her body.

It's enough to steel his resolve.

He had promised when this whole thing had begun that he would protect Kensi and not let her be hurt.

He had failed her again.

This time, beyond redemption.

Considering that, there's no way that he's about to make it worse by insulting her memory and becoming a traitor before he dies.

Not that he would do it even if she weren't involved.

At least he hopes he wouldn't.

He thinks about the rest of the team. He knows this group fairly well by now, knows that they're looking for him. He knows that they'll move heaven and hell to find him and deep down, that gives him just a little bit of hope.

But then he feels the pangs of old feeling long forgotten – withdrawal.

It makes him want to cry. And scream. Or both.

He closes his eyes and thinks about the many meditation methods that Sam employs. He's never really bought into them, but right now, he embraces them fully, looking for any way to slow his breathing and thus soften the pain that keeps vibrating through his ribcage.

It doesn't work.

He prays for unconsciousness.

That doesn't work, either.

* * *

_Deeks is already up and out of the bed when she comes to. She rolls over, still tangled in the blankets, and turns towards the LED alarm clock, which reads eight-ten in the morning. She looks up and sees bright sunlight streaming into the room. She groans and buries her head back beneath the pillows._

"_Hey, you up yet, Beautiful?" she hears him call out from the front. His voice is chipper and full of energy. To her way of thinking, this much exuberance this early in the morning, well it's damn near an affront to God and nature._

"_No," she grumbles into her pillow, knowing full well that he can't possibly hear her. "Go away."_

"_Come on, I know you're awake, Honey. Breakfast is ready." His voice is damn near close to sing-songish. It's enough to make a girl homicidal._

_Sighing, she reluctantly pushes herself up and out of the bed. She checks her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, ensures that she's somewhat decent (if a bit disheveled, her hair going in about ten different directions) and then makes her way out of the bedroom and down the long hallway._

_Binding her long dark hair into a ponytail, she steps into the kitchen, stopping when she sees her partner leaning over the stove, frying up some eggs. He's wearing blue and white checkered board shorts and a white sleeve-less tee-shirt that perfectly shows off his well toned body. His messy blonde hair is wet and he smells slightly of salt. He's clearly just come back from a morning surf._

_Without turning around to face her, he asks, "Bacon and cheese omelet good with you, my sweet?"_

"_Sure," she replies. "As long as you stop with the stupid pet names."_

_He turns to face her, grinning. She groans; he's in that kind of mood. The kind that usually makes her think about creative ways to cause him bodily harm._

"_Coffee?" she pleads._

"_Other counter, all hot and ready for you."_

_She narrows her eyes. He laughs. _

"_What?" she demands._

"_Only you could be suspicious of someone doing something nice for you," Deeks chuckles, holding out an empty cup to her. She stares at the cup for a moment, then takes it from him. "Now say thank you," he urges._

"_Thank you," she repeats. She gives him another suspicious look and then turns to the coffee machine and pours herself a cup. _

_After downing half a cup of the scalding liquid (he has no idea has she does that), she says conversationally, "How was the surf?"_

"_A bit too tame this morning," he shrugs._

_She nods, takes another gulp and then refills her cup._

"_So how'd you sleep?" he asks finally, fidgeting a bit. He doesn't like this awkwardness. He understands it certainly (waking up with someone is an intensely intimate kind of thing – it's why he left before she came to; they're not ready for that yet), but that doesn't mean he cares for it._

"_Good," she lies. "You?"_

"_Out like a light."_

_They stare at each other for a long moment, as if daring each other to call the other one a liar._

_Neither does. _

"_So class today?" Kensi asks instead._

"_Yeah," Deeks confirms, happy for the sudden re-focus on the job at hand. "I'll be meeting Sanchez in a class on web commerce. Good thing I read up on it."_

"_Good thing. And I guess that means I'll be joining the theater class."_

"_Better put your best acting skills on display," he tells her, an impish smile spreading across his face._

"_Oh, you mean the ones that allow me to pretend that I like you?" she replies sweetly (far too sweetly for his liking)._

"_No, the ones that are going to allow you to pretend that you love me and want to marry me and be with me forever and ever and ever," he shoots back. He's flashing her his widest grin, the one that usually makes her want to punch him (the one that, in fact, usually gets him punched)._

"_Oh, right, those skills. You're right; I'm going to have to really dig deep. You know, find my motivation." And now she's grinning back at him, but this one is slightly more predatory, it's the one he usually sees right before he feels a flash of pain radiate up through his shoulder._

"_Uh huh. Eat your breakfast." He hands her a plate with an omelet on it. _

_She smiles at him; affection clearly in her eyes, no matter how much he annoys her. He answers hers with one of his own and for the first time, she thinks that maybe this is going to all be okay._

_She thinks maybe, her fears were silly and they have nothing to worry about._

_Set the trap, lay in wait, catch the bad guys. Go home and take a bubble bath._

_Yeah, piece of cake._

_Piece. Of. Cake._

_

* * *

_

"You remember?" Sam asks, his mind a thousand miles away and many years in the past. There's a fondness in his tone, like whatever he's remembering is something that he still thinks back upon with some degree of affection.

"The first time I had to play house, you mean?" Callen queries, eyes still on the words on the screen. He turns towards Sam and chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I remember." A small smile is lifting the corners of his lips up.

Sam shoots him a look. "It doesn't always end that way, G."

"It usually does."

"Most of your female partners were one-offs."

"True," Callen admits. "That made it easier. And it happening, sometimes that made the operations easier – then we weren't pretending."

"Okay," Eric interjects. "I'm completely lost here. What makes what easier?"

Callen and Sam glance at each other and then over at Hetty, who is looking down at the stack of journals, almost seeming like she's trying to pretend she isn't part of this particular conversation.

Sam starts to speak, then stops, then says, "When you're undercover like that and you're working with someone and you're playing at being a couple and both of you are commitment-less…"

"Wait, you're saying they…I mean Deeks and Kensi…."

"No, we're not saying that at all," Callen responds quickly. "And it doesn't matter even if they did. They're partners, things happen. That wouldn't change how they would go about their business. It didn't change how Deeks went about how he worked the op when he was involved with Trainer."

"And it doesn't change that something horrible happened to both of them," Hetty puts in. She's clearly trying to change the subject.

It doesn't work.

Eric shakes his head. "There's nothing in any of the journals about them…you know…" He's still having a hell of a time processing even the idea of a Deeks and Kensi hook-up.

"They wouldn't put it in there," Sam tells him.

"I never did," Callen admits.

"This is truly one of the most bizarre conversations that I've ever been part of," Eric mumbles.

It's at that point that Hetty decides that this conversation has gone far enough along this particular path. "Mr. Beale, perhaps you can check in on Ms. Blye for us? See if she'll be able to receive visitors this afternoon?"

"Uh, sure." And with that, he's up and away, showing unmistakable relief to be getting away from the conversation.

"Sometimes I forget," Sam says thoughtfully.

"That's he doesn't really understand what we do," Callen finishes.

"He doesn't need to," Hetty tells them. "He just needs to be good at his job just as you are both good at yours."

"Good gets you dead," Sam corrects. "Kensi and Deeks had to be great."

She simply smiles thinly, letting both know that she completely agrees.

"Can I ask you a question?" Callen says suddenly.

"Certainly."

"Why Deeks? And why Kensi and Deeks?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Yes, you do. You've had a thing for him ever since you saw him. Wherever the hell that was. Tell me, did that thing include some weird vibe about him and Kensi?"

"Ah."

"What does 'ah' mean?" Callen demands.

"Do you know that you were a very difficult person to find a partner for, Mr. Callen?"

"I've had many partners."

"True," Hetty confirms. "But very few outside of Ms. Keller were long term."

"And we all know how that turned out," Sam says quietly.

Callen doesn't take the bait, keeps his eyes on Hetty, "Okay. What's your point?"

"My point is, Mr. Callen, a good partnership is extraordinarily rare. Much like a good marriage. Everyone thinks that they're built on common ground and shared preferences. In my experience, however, that's not necessarily true. No, from where I stand, the best of partnerships and marriages are built on many things – friendship, intimacy, trust and companionship."

"That's us, Sam, the perfect couple," Callen quips.

Sam ignores him, "Are you saying you saw the same thing in Kensi and Deeks that you see in me and G?"

"Agent Blye is competitive by nature – she needs someone who will challenge her , push her and occasionally, test her patience," Hetty replies, not exactly answering the question. "She also – and I don't believe that she'd admit to this – has a very strong caretaker streak in her."

"So she's Sam," Callen chuckles.

Sam shoots him an annoyed look and then to Hetty, "And Deeks?"

"Is more like Mr. Callen than I think he realizes."

"What does that even mean?" Callen queries, looking genuinely confused.

Before she can reply, Eric returns. "I uh, just got off the phone with the hospital."

He looks for a moment like he's not sure he should continue.

Hetty smiles at him. "Go on, Eric."

"They said she had a rough night, but that she's still stable and showing modest improvement. The doctor thinks maybe she can have a short visit late this afternoon if her condition stays the way it is."

"That's it?" Callen asks.

Eric shrugs. "He said she's been asking for Deeks a lot, but won't tell anyone who Deeks is."

"She's still trying to protect him," Sam notes, a bit of pride in his tone.

"Indeed," Hetty nods. "Then until then, gentlemen, we have two options."

"Read journals or get out there and look for Deeks?" Callen asks and it's clear which option he would prefer.

"Precisely," Hetty replies. At that moment, her phone beeps. She looks down at it and then turns it to face the trio of men. They see a text on the screen that says: I'm here. Someone going to come fill me in? – Renko.

Sam and Callen exchange looks.

Finally, Sam says softly, "Go on, G."

It kills him to stay behind talking over notes in a journal, but he knows his partner well and can tell that Callen is going crazy. He needs to be out on the streets even if he has nowhere to go.

"Thanks," Callen replies. "Where am I meeting him?"

"The Boathouse," Hetty answers.

He nods. "You hear anything…"

"We'll let you know immediately."

"I'll do the same." Callen starts for the door.

"Mr. Callen?" Hetty calls out for him. He turns and looks back at her.

"Please be careful. Kassel is still out there."

He nods. "I know, Hetty. Don't worry."

She smiles thinly. They hold each others' gaze for a moment and then Callen turns and rushes out the door.

Sam turns to face Hetty. "I know that Macy is the name on my req form, but she told me that you actively pushed to recruit me."

"Did she say that?" Hetty queries, thought it doesn't sound like much of a question.

"Yeah."

"Hm."

"So was I right? You have the same feeling about Deeks and Kensi that you had about me and G?"

"Yes."

"Then right now, if he's still alive, he believes that we're coming for him. He believes that she's coming for him. I'd believe G was even if everyone was telling me that he was dead. Up until the end, I'd believe."

"You'd be right to believe, Mr. Hanna, and Mr. Deeks would be as well. We are coming for him. All of us."

She lets this hang in the air for a long moment and then, to Eric, "If you'll put the next section up on the screen."

* * *

_He has to admit – Kensi Blye is one hell of a beautiful woman._

_When she comes out of the bathroom in a tight fitting little black dress, her hair swept back and brightly colored glitter shining on her chest, he can't help but be impressed. He's certain that she's going to catch the eye of every man at the party – which is kind of the point; they want Paul Sanchez and Christopher Kassel to take notice of them._

_He thinks about his meet-up with Sanchez in the web commerce class on Wednesday. It had been casual and easy and Sanchez had played his role very well. They'd chatted about how hard it was to be in a new city and how finding work looked like it was going to be more of a pain than had been expected._

_At the end of the class, Sanchez had invited the new kids to town, James and his lovely fiancée' to a sure to be rocking house party on Friday. He'd even been kind enough to tell James – in front of several on-lookers - that maybe he could help with a job._

_Deeks glances down at his own clothes. He's dressed in khakis and a black polo shirt, perfectly playing the role of the lucky bastard who is with a woman who is way out of his league._

_All acting, Deeks thinks. Just parts played very well._

_Well, maybe – that Kensi is way out of his league, that's not quite acting._

"_How do I look?" Kensi asks quietly, her voice low and slightly uncertain._

"_Fantastic," he tells her. "And me?"_

"_The shirt is nice," she grins, stepping towards him and quickly sweeping away some stray fibers that had attached themselves to the shirt._

"_Thanks. Pretty sure it came from James Dean's personal collection knowing Hetty."_

"_Probably. Well, shall we?" She offers him her hand._

"_We shall." He takes it and gives it a good squeeze._

_They step out of the apartment and head for the Honda._

_He reminds himself that he's done this a thousand times, even once or twice with her – pretending to be a couple at a public party is easy._

_The hard part? Well that will be making sure that Kassel thinks of James and Kara as the perfect couple – James as the new dealer and Kara as the hapless completely unaware of it insurance policy._

_Not just the hard part, the crucial part. If Kassel doesn't buy into them, the op is over before it even begins._

"_Honey?" Kensi whispers, coming up to his side. She settles a hand on his forearm and moves in close, so that it looks like she's giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Everything okay?"_

_"Ready to rock," he grins. "Isn't that what you Marine Corps brats like to say?"_

_"Not quite," she chuckles. "More like locked, cocked and ready to rock."_

_"So you're saying close enough?"_

_"I'm saying close enough."_

_"Then let's rock."  
_

_

* * *

_

_The party is at a massive house in the heart of Beverly Hills. It belongs to a rich playboy by the name of Jonathan Morris. Morris is the kind of heir to a fortune that comes complete with a Peter Pan complex that makes him think it's okay to party with college kids even though he's pushing forty himself._

_A quick check into Morris's background shows that he's also the kind of recovering drug addict who thinks the word recovery is there just to keep people off his back. The real truth of the matter is that there are very few chemicals that Morris hasn't put into his body and as such, is easy prey for a guy like Kassel._

_They get to the house at just before nine and see that the party is already in full swing. There are cars and trucks and SUVs everywhere. Both Deeks and Kensi immediately notice how many vehicles there are of the high sticker value variety._

_They get to the door and are greeted by a man with a list. Acting nervous, Deeks says, "Uh, James Reese. My fiancée' and I were invited here by…"_

"_Mr. Sanchez, yes, you're on the list, Mr and Mrs. Reese. Please, enjoy yourself," the man with the list says with a thin and unconvincing smile._

"_Friendly guy," Kensi mutters._

"_Can't be much fun to know that everyone is inside having a good time with all the chemicals while you're outside holding a piece of paper," Deeks observes._

_Then he winks at her._

_Showtime._

_They step inside and neither is a bit surprised to see a party full of young adults in their late twenties. Some look like grad students, others are beyond their college years, but still seem to be hanging on to the partying lifestyle._

_Still, this is far from a kegger._

"_Hey, James, you made it, bro. Good to see you!" Paul Sanchez calls out as he approaches. He holds out his hand to Deeks, who takes it, all while still keeping an arm slung slightly around Kensi's back. _

"_You, too," Deeks answers._

_Sanchez turns to Kensi. "And you must be Kara. Jimmy here won't stop talking about you. I can see why now."_

"_Jimmy," she admonishes gently, but makes it clear that she's delighted that he's talking about her. To Sanchez she says, faux shyly, "Hi." She lets him take her hand and shake it. She's glad that he doesn't try to oversell the moment by kissing her hand or something odd like that._

_It occurs to Kensi that Sanchez is actually pretty good at the acting._

_But then, just as she's thinking how impressed she is with his ability to play along with them without acting oddly or like he's up to something, she sees that bizarre almost cruel sexual fascination with her flare up in his dark eyes. She reaches out for Deek's hand and squeezes it._

_In reality, she's not the least bit afraid of Sanchez (though she is a bit creeped out by him), but she figures that most women would be at least a little bit thrown off by the sudden attention that he's paying her. _

_She knows that Deeks saw Sanchez's look, but he pretends he didn't._

"_You okay, babe?" he asks._

_She smiles. "Yeah. Just geeked up. Want to dance."_

"_Well come on in," Sanchez says. "There are drinks in the kitchen. Food, too. And there's an XBOX set up in the Study. There's a heated pool out back and a sauna if you two lovebirds wanna use it."_

"_Nice," Deeks comments._

"_And over there is the dance floor," he points to the middle of the room where a makeshift dance floor has been set up._

"_Great," Kensi says._

"_Yep. You two enjoy yourselves. Dance, mingle. I'll catch up with you guys later." _

_And with that, he starts to move away. Once he's about ten feet away, Deeks acts like he has something he forgot to say. To Kensi he says, "Oh, one sec, babe." And then he goes after Sanchez. "Paul!"_

_Sanchez turns. Deeks slides in close. "I don't mean to…I don't…look you mentioned something about maybe being able to help me with a job?" He lowers his voice. "We're supposed to get married in the Spring and…"_

_Sanchez pats his arm. "I know, man. Women, right? Don't worry. I got something I'm working on. I'll catch up with you later and we can talk more about it, okay?"_

"_Yeah, cool," Deeks says, his face flushing relief._

_At least he hopes so._

_He's being doing this awhile. He knows the job. He's pretty sure he's selling it._

"_Good. Now don't leave that beautiful lady alone. You do for too long, someone will come around and take her from you," Sanchez tells him._

_It's just short of a threat and it sends a yellow caution flag flying._

_For the sake of the op, though, Deeks pretends to ignore it._

"_Right," he says. "I'm a lucky bastard."_

"_Yes, you are." And then Sanchez turns and heads away again, saying hello to other partiers as he weaves between them._

_Deeks returns to Kensi. _

"_Everything okay?" she asks._

"_Yup. Paul, uh, he thinks maybe he knows where I can get a job," he tells her._

"_Yeah?" she says. "That'd be great."_

"_Hey, you want to dance?" he asks, pointing towards the dance floor. It's heavily with swaying and either high as a kite or drunk as a skunk young adults._

_She beams up at him. "I'd love to."_

_Her wide unreserved smile, it's so weird for him. He reminds himself that this is just an act; but he has to admit, he's entranced by it._

_She reaches out, grabs his hand and pulls him into the middle of the floor._

_And then proceeds to put on one hell of a show._

_Hips swaying, arms flying, body in perfect musical sync._

_For a moment, he thinks everyone in the room must be watching his partner in motion, but then he realizes that he's the only one who can't keep his eyes off of her._

_Well not quite._

_A look to his left and he sees Sanchez leaning against a far wall, chatting with two young men (one of whom Deeks notices looks like he's coming down from quite a bender), his eyes locked on Kensi._

_Before he can think too much on it, Kensi's got his hand and she's pulling him in towards her. "Dance with me," she whispers. "That means, you have to move your hips."_

"_Right, move my hips." _

"_Don't tell me you can't dance," she teases, her mouth inches from his ear._

"_I can dance," he stammers out._

"_Then show me and stop making it look like I'm dragging my dead weight of a boyfriend around," she replies, spinning herself around so that she's leaning back against him. She pulls his arms around her mid section and starts to slide her body against his, up and down._

"_Oh," he mumbles. "Oh oh, man."_

_He hears – or rather feels – her laugh. She's enjoying his sudden discomfort far too much. Far, far, far too much._

_Truth be told, though many a cover has taken him to a club or two, he's never quite found his dancing shoes. Normally, like now, he allows his date to lead and if she's at all good at what she does, she can typically guide him along well enough to make it look like he's not completely lost._

_If Kensi wasn't getting so damned much amusement out of watching him squirm, she'd be doing that now as well, he's quite certain._

"_Partner," he whispers into her ear. It comes out more like a purr than a word._

_She smiles._

_He slides his hands down her hips._

_She laughs and grinds back against him._

"_You're hysterical," he whispers._

_She winks at him and then spins him around and does something that completely takes him by surprise; she kisses him._

_On the mouth and quite passionately._

_Only the fact that he's no rookie to undercover work keeps him from reacting in a way that would have killed their cover on the spot. Instead, he closes her eyes and kisses her back, making sure to let her lead. After all, even if he'd like to attribute the passionate embrace to his charming personality and thundering good looks, he's fairly certain it's more likely job related. _

_After a moment, she pulls away and turns around again to continue dancing. As she does, she pulls him slightly to the side, giving him a view of Sanchez talking to a man that he recognizes immediately as Christopher Kassel._

_Kassel is an impressive man in person, tall, handsome and practically oozing arrogance. The men standing around him, including Sanchez, look at him with an almost sycophant like reverence. _

_As he's looking over that way, he sees Sanchez indicate towards him. He pretends not to notice, turns his attention back to Kensi, who is in the process of ensuring that there's no way that Kassel and his boys couldn't notice her._

_He smiles; she's good. _

_He wraps his arms around her waist and lets her guide him._

_This time, she does._

_

* * *

_

_Much of the night is a lot less eventful than the half hour spent together on the dance-floor. After that, they'd wandered around meeting people and engaging in the many offerings of the house (not including the pool or the sauna)._

_At around midnight or so, Deeks finds himself in the oversized so-called Rec Room playing his fifth game of Forza 3. It's just as his sleek little Maserati crosses the finish line that he realizes that he has no idea where Kensi is._

"_Hey," he asks the young man next to him. "You see where my girl went?"_

_The kid shrugs. "Naw, man. Another game?"_

"_Later maybe," Deeks sighs, tossing the XBOX controller onto the couch and standing up. He exits the Rec Room and starts wandering the house. It's still quite crowded, but now the party-goers seem more sedate. Almost…drugged?_

_After about ten minutes of searching for his partner, he finally finds her in the kitchen, drinking red wine._

_With Christopher Kassel._

_They're chatting like they're old friends, Kensi playing the role of the slightly self-absorbed young woman who has no idea how much danger she is in. She's talking nearly non-stop, flashing a wide smile. _

_In short, she's being utterly charming._

"_Baby!" she calls out when Deeks enters the kitchen._

"_Hey," he replies, trying to make it sound like he's tired. "I've been looking all over the place for you."_

_She steps towards him and curls herself against his body. He loops an arm around her and pulls her close, kissing the top of her hair. H wants Kassel to see them as a couple madly in love with each other._

"_Sorry," she offers up after giving him a quick peck on the lips. "You were playing with the boys. I didn't want to interrupt." She motions to Kassel. "Jimmy, I met someone. This is Chris Kassel. He's a movie producer."_

"_A producer, huh?" Deeks answers. It takes everything he has not to let his natural cynicism into his voice. Around these parts, a producer doesn't always mean someone who has power. In fact, it tends to be a term some of the bottom feeders in the industry use in order to coerce those with less understanding of Los Angeles and Hollywood into doing things they normally would never consider doing. Things like sex and drugs. _

_For a girl like Kara Barstow, Chris Kassel seems like a lucky break. More often than not, it's a dead end filled with pain, misery and loss._

"_Indeed," Kassel replies smoothly. "You must be James?"  
_

"_Jimmy," Deeks corrects. They shake hands._

"_Seems we have a mutual friend," Kassel notes._

_Deeks pretends to play dumb._

"_Paul Sanchez."_

"_Oh, right, yeah. Paul's a good guy."_

"_Yes, he is. He tells me you're out of work right now."_

_Deeks shifts a bit, looking slightly embarrassed._

"_Not for lack of trying," Kensi says quickly. "Jimmy has been looking everywhere."_

"_I don't doubt it. Maybe we can help each other, Jimmy," Kassel says. He offers Kensi another glass of wine, which she happily accepts. _

"_Really? How?"_

"_In my job, I often have need of someone to deliver things for me."_

"_What kind of things?"_

_Kassel waives his hand. "Nothing we need to really go into right now, but you know, not major; contracts and supplies. Stuff like that."_

"_So I'd be a courier."_

"_Pretty much."_

_Deeks shrugs. "Sounds pretty easy."_

"_It is. How about this, you two enjoy the rest of your night, but tomorrow, come see me at my office and we can talk specifics. I think you'll find it a very lucrative opportunity. I'm a fantastic boss and I could use a hardworking employee."_

"_That's me," Deeks assures him._

"_Excellent. Paul will give you the address." He turns to Kensi and then reaches out and takes her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Kara. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other quite often going forward."_

_She beams back at him, acting utterly captivated. _

"_Jimmy," Kassel says, finally turning to him. They shake again and then Kassel exits the kitchen. That's when Deeks notices the tall burly man shadowing him – obviously a bodyguard._

_After they've both exited, Deeks turns to Kensi, "Ready to head home, honey? I'm whooped."_

"_Yeah, but you have to drive," she tells him, holding up the wine glass. He can't tell if she's playing being buzzed or really is._

"_No problem." He puts an arm around her and then makes a show of guiding her through the rest of the party-goers. _

_

* * *

_

_They do no more than chat idly for the next hour, still completely in character as James and Kara. It isn't until well after they've gotten back to the apartment and both showered that they make their way out to the front of the apartment (which they've cleared and re-cleared to ensure that there's no new surveillance equipment anywhere around) to debrief each other. _

_Ensuring that it won't look odd if someone happens by and sees them sitting together outside of the apartment, Kensi's leaning lightly against his chest, drinking from a bottle of beer. He's got one of his own as well._

"_How'd Kassel find you?" Deeks asks._

"_I think he was looking for me," she replies quietly, taking a swig from her beer. He notices that her bottle is already half empty._

"_You specifically?"_

"_Not sure, but he came right up to me and introduced himself. Asked me if I was James Reese's fiancée."_

"_Sanchez did his part."_

"_Yeah," she answers, sitting up. _

_He turns towards her. "Something wrong?"_

"_No."_

"_Ke…partner?"_

_She grins at him._

"_You're slightly drunk aren't you?"_

"_No," she says, but she's still smiling. "But I am slightly buzzed, though how could I not be with Kassel refilling my glass every time it got close to empty."_

"_He liked you."_

_She groans._

"_What?"_

"_Just what I always dream of; attracting losers like Sanchez and homicidal sociopaths like Kassel. No wonder I'm perpetually single if those are the types that go for me."_

_He notices that she's turned away from him when she says this, her eyes upwards, as if on the heavens. _

"_It's not that bad," he insists, following her gaze upwards._

_She doesn't reply._

_He considers trying again, but then decides to let it drop. This woman is mercurial and complicated and he thinks that trying to know too much before she's ready for that happen can only lead to disaster._

"_Okay so, Kassel found you and you just started talking?"_

"_Yeah. Sanchez must have told him that Kara is a film student because he started in on that angle almost immediately. You know that whole 'hey honey, here's what I can do for you' bullshit?"_

"_Yeah. Heard it a thousand times."_

_She smirks at him._

"_What?" he says. "I have a face for Hollywood."_

_She snorts._

"_Uh huh."_

"_It was a good start," she tells him, downing the rest of her beer._

"_Yeah, it was. You did good tonight."_

"_Tomorrow is your turn."_

"_No problem," he says. Then he points up towards the stars. "Okay, Lady McGyver, what constellation is that and what is it's history and what can it help me do? Come on, I know you know it all. Educate me."_

"_Oh. That would take far too long. How about I give you a book. Assuming you can read it."_

"_See, now, I was being nice there."_

_She smiles. "Yes, you were. Okay, well that there is Fornax. It's named after a guy who was guillotined in the 18__th__ century."_

"_Interesting."_

"_Not really."_

_They both laugh and then she gets up, takes his beer, finishes it off and heads inside. He stays a moment longer, looking up at the stars._

"_Guillotined," he mumbles. "Nice."_

_

* * *

_

"Hey, old friend," Mike Renko grimly greets him as he enters the Boathouse. Renko looks tanned and tired, like he's recently spent a lot of time out in the sun.

"I'm guessing that's not recreational," Callen notes.

"No, been chasing the Moraci brothers. They seem to have watched the Fast and the Furious a few thousand times too many. All of their operations take place in the desert somewhere."

"Fun."

"Yeah. So what the hell is going on? I leave you guys for a few months and you nearly get Kensi killed?"

Callen shakes his head. "This one went real bad. You know who Christopher Kassel is?"

"Yeah, he's worked with the Moraci's a time or two. Mostly an exchange of product. They don't really share well, though, so their lines don't cross often."

"Well, we sent Kensi and Deeks in after them."

"Deeks is the LAPD guy?"

"Right. Good guy, straight shooter."

"So you trust him?"

"He didn't screw Kensi over, I believe that."

"Okay. So what did happen?"

"We have no idea. What we do know is that Kensi is in the hospital –"

"She is? You have her?"

"Yeah."

Renko exhales. "Good. The wires made it sound like she was still missing."

"Officially, she is. We want Kassel and his goons to think she's dead."

"So they'll leave her alone."

"Exactly."

"How is she?"

"Not great, but she's Kensi."

Both smile a bit knowingly.

Then, thoughtfully, Renko says, "You know that won't work for long, right? I mean pretending Kensi is dead. A guy like Kassel has moles everywhere, especially in the hospitals. He's used to putting people in them, which means he has to have a way to get to the folks there – he has to have ways of making them dead."

Callen has his phone out of his pocket less than three seconds later. He hits a speed dial number and waits. Then, "You have someone watching Kensi, right?" He listens and then nods. "I figured. Okay, thanks."

"She has someone on her?" Renko asks.

"Of course," Callen replies. "She seems rather annoyed that I even asked." He puts his phone back into his pocket and then makes his way over to a map of Los Angeles on one of the counters. He opens it up and lays it out on the table.

"Okay, so what's the plan then, G?" Renko asks, coming over to also look at the map.

"Find Deeks. Whatever it takes."

"Works for me."

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Okay, so I'm about a week behind. Can I blame the holidays? Well, I am anyway. :D So here it is and it's a long one. **

**I would, of course, suggest reading from Chapter 1 and I apologize for any weird inconsistencies that show up.  
**

**Thank you for all of the kind words - please continue to let me know your thoughts.**

**As always, anything in italics is a flashback of what happened during the mission.  
**

**J, you are so up.**

**

* * *

**

She's honestly not all that sure which is worse – the fact that she can't seem to remember anything for longer than five minutes at a time or the terrible flashes of white hot pain that continue to tear back and forth through her wounded body.

About the time she asks the pretty young nurse with the clearly dyed bright red hair and the sparkling green eyes where she is, and the woman gives her a sympathetic pat on the arm that seems to suggest that maybe she's already answered this question a few times, NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye begins to realize that the electric shockwave that she keeps feeling radiate up and down her frame is nothing compared to the dullness in her head.

No, dullness isn't quite the right word.

At least not as a description of the aching pain she feels in her skull. That pain, well it's sharper and more intense – just about blinding in nature.

But her brain itself, well that feels dull. And unfocused.

It's a bit weird, really, because she thinks that some of her memories are beginning to return. She's seeing more and more of what she figures has got to be the last several weeks of her life.

Which, she figures, will probably help shed some light on how she ended up in a hospital bed with a raging headache (God, what an understatement, she thinks) and enough aches and pains to make a daredevil envious.

Problem is, she's seeing more, but not necessarily understanding more.

Like for instance, why she keeps hearing her partner screaming her name.

She tries to focus her mind, tries to grab at his voice and pull it like one would yank at a stray thread of an old sweater, but it seems like every single time she tries to block out everything besides him, her body screams out in protest and demands that she listen to its many howls of agony.

It's almost like her body doesn't want her to remember how it got hurt this badly.

The nurse touches her elbow softly, pulling her away from her dark thoughts. When she looks up, she realizes that she has salt in her eyes – not tears, but rather sweat. She's burning up again.

Or maybe she never stopped running a fever. She's not completely sure.

All she knows is that every now and again, her vision begins to swirl and swim, and it feels like the whole world is tumbling away from her in slow motion.

That feeling – that crazy absurd feeling – is always followed by unconsciousness.

It's getting to be a bit of a cycle.

"Shh," the nurse murmurs. "It's okay."

"_I'm okay," she insists, staring directly into her partner's bright blue eyes. They're wide and worried, full of a thousand emotions._

"_God," he says again. It occurs to her that he hasn't said anything besides that for the last five minutes. It's almost like he's in a state of shock._

_She's pretty sure one of them is._

_So again, she tells him, "I'm okay." She puts some attitude behind the words, meaning for this to be the last time she says them._

_She just wants this moment to be over. And suddenly, she just wants this whole damn thing to be over._

_She knows better; it's all so very far from ever._

_There's still bad guys to catch._

_One in particular. _

_One who really just made everything very, very personal._

"_Please," she whispers when he doesn't speak. _

_His silence is maddening to her._

"_Please say something," she just about begs him. She wants to add his name – almost does – but then remembers…_

"What, dear?"

She blinks, and returns to the present – to the hospital room with the purposely-dimmed lights (the brightness hurts her head, something the doctors had realized almost immediately after she'd regained consciousness). She feels a cool cloth on her forehead, wiping away the beads of perspiration.

"What do you want me to say?" the nurse elaborates.

"Nothing," Kensi stammers. "I…Nothing."

"Oh," the nurse says suddenly. "Looks like you have a guest."

She looks up, and then smiles slightly when she sees her visitors – Hetty and Sam. Sam's eyes sweep her over, taking in her injuries. If she felt better, she'd let him know him much she hates it when he does that.

Right now, though, she lets him have it.

"Miss Cochran," Hetty says, stepping into the room, Sam just a few feet behind her. "It's good to see you awake."

Her tone is warm and loaded – there's a lot going on here. For one, she's reminding Kensi of her cover, but the most important part is that she is trying to express to her junior agent just how very worried she is.

"Hey," Kensi replies, her tongue suddenly feeling big and cumbersome. Her words slur just a bit.

"I'll leave you three," the nurse says quickly, getting up. To Kensi, she says, "If you need anything, I'll be just outside."

"Thanks," Kensi replies, and again, to her own ears it's sounds like she's half drunk. But that can't be right. After all, the doctor has told her at least five times that they can't give her any pain meds because…

Because…

It occurs to her that she has no idea why she can't have any pain meds. Her injuries and the state of her body certainly seem as though they'd justify a little bit of chemical relief. And yet…

"Are you all right?" Hetty asks, her voice low.

"I…how did I get here?" Kensi asks. "I don't remember." Her hand strays up towards her forehead. As her fingers trail upwards, they slide over lacerated and brightly bruised skin and she winces. "How…"

"Hey," Sam says, coming over to the bed. "Easy…

"Sam, I don't understand."

"I know. I know." He interlaces his hand with hers and lightly touches the bandage on her head. Then he folds his hand over hers and squeezes. "But everything, it's all still in there, and we'll get to it. I promise you, we will."

She meets his eyes. After a moment, she nods.

"The doctors would prefer that we not stay long," Hetty tells her, "But we wanted to stop by and see how you are." She leans in closer. "And we wanted to assure you that we are doing everything we can to find Deeks."

"Deeks," she repeats.

"_I must admit," Kassel tells her, his voice silky smooth, "You two – you and Detective Deeks – well you actually fooled me. You two put on one hell of a show. You especially." He caresses her face, and quite instinctively, she recoils from his touch. He laughs. "Now, now, Kara…Agent Blye…Kensi, I presume I can call you that after all we've…shared."_

_Her only reaction is to meet his eyes and then spit._

_It's decidedly unladylike in nature, but then, no one has ever accused Kensi Blye of being a perfect little lady anyway. And really, spitting at Christopher Kassel is the very least of what she actually wants to do to the son of a bitch._

_For a moment, he's surprised._

_And then he laughs._

_And then he hits her._

_Right across the face. She just about blacks out. _

_Instead, she falls to her side. Lying there, she looks around the room she's in, sees that it's covered wall to wall with mirrors – almost like a funhouse. Only these ones, they're not distorted. These ones, they're showing the true horror of the situation she's in._

"_Tell me, Kensi, my sweet little toy," he says, bending down next to her and whispering in her ear. "Did you and your partner have time to say goodbye to each other? For your sake, I hope you did." Then, to the man standing in the doorway, watching with a grin, Kassel says, "Do it."_

_She hears footsteps heading into a different room, a cry of pain and then two gunshots._

"_Deeks!" she screams._

She looks up at Sam and Hetty, her eyes wide.

"What?" Sam asks, urgency in his voice. "What did you remember?"

"I…" she stops short. She has no idea how she can possibly get the words out.

He takes her hand. "It's okay, you're safe."

"I am," she says. "He's not."

"We know he's missing. We'll find him."

"He's not missing," she says softly.

"What do you mean?" Hetty asks even though far too many years of doing this are telling her exactly what Kensi is going to say.

"He's dead. They shot him. I heard it. They shot him in…" she stops for a moment and thinks. "I don't know where we were. I can't…I can't remember."

A tear tumbles down her cheek. She puts a hand over her mouth.

"I can't remember where we were."

"We found you in a warehouse," Sam tells her. "Was that where you heard the gunshots? Was that where they took you and Deeks?"

"I…I think so?" she seems confused, disorientated and more than a little scared.

Seeing those things on Kensi – who is now covered in a thick sheet of sweat - is a whole lot unsettling for both Sam and Hetty.

Leaning down close to Kensi, Hetty whispers softly (but firmly) into her ear, "I need you to listen to me carefully here. We haven't found his body, Ms. Blye. Until we do, we operate under the assumption that he can be and is alive. Do you understand?"

Slowly, but surely, Kensi nods.

"Good. Now there are officers from the LAPD outside your room. Detective Bernhardt put them in place. I trust that they are of the highest integrity. They will ensure your safety. Do you understand that?"

Kensi doesn't ask why Hetty feels it necessary to have security on her; she knows enough about Kassel to know that he'll be coming for her.

Kensi nods again.

"Good. Mr. Hanna, I believe that we should let Ms. Blye sleep," Hetty says as she turns to face Sam. She makes it clear with her eyes that this isn't up for debate.

"Fine."

Kensi feels Sam's hand on her own again and then they both leave the room just as the doctor and the nurse enter.

As she lies back against her pillows, trying to ignore the bolts of pain surging through her like firecrackers, it occurs to her that she doesn't really mind if Kassel is coming for her.

In fact, she rather hopes he is.

She figures she'll be waiting for him, too.

* * *

They're back in Sam's Charger before either of them utters a word.

"She seems better," Sam says hopefully.

Hetty nods slowly. "Considering all she's been through, yes. Still, I'll be relieved when they're able to start giving her painkillers. The doctor told me they're hopeful they can begin doing so within twenty-four hours."

"Good." He pauses for a moment and then asks, "What do you make of her saying she thinks Deeks is dead?"

"I don't think at this point that we are going to be able to rely on Ms. Blye for any information about what occurred. Her head injuries are too significant and she's still showing signs of short-term memory loss. Whether it's temporary or permanent…well, for now, we'll need to stick with what's in the journals, and hope that Mr. Callen and Mr. Renko can dig up more for us."

"You didn't exactly answer my question."

"I don't exactly have an answer for your question."

"Right."

* * *

After relaying their conversation with Kensi to Callen and Renko, who have spent most of the early afternoon harassing their mob contacts around the Valley and seedier parts of Los Angeles, those at the Mission settle back down in front of the large LCD screen.

"I feel like we should have popcorn," Eric says. Then, quickly, "I mean, I don't…"

He stops, drops his head down, and starts nervously tapping away out his keyboard. He's halted by the feel of Hetty's small hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Eric," she says softly.

He considers responding, but then decides to do what Sam and Callen would do.

What Kensi and Deeks would.

Focus on the job at hand.

Figuring out what the hell went wrong and where Deeks is.

Dead or alive.

"Next journal coming up," he says, his tone firm. He's trying to tell Sam and Hetty that he's okay, trying to tell them that he doesn't need their compassion.

He doesn't need them worrying about him.

Not right now at least.

Every bit of worry and concern should be focused on Kensi and Deeks.

He taps a button and the LCD turns on.

"And on screen now."

* * *

_They're a week into their undercover gig, and it occurs to her that she still hasn't woken up next to her partner. _

_Since the first night of the op, they've been sharing a bed. In spite of the initial anxiety, it's all been very professional. No touching and no invading of each other's personal space no matter how cold it gets._

_She's all right with that; she's never been much of a cuddler anyway, and well, Deeks is her partner after all. _

_Still, she can't help but think it a little strange that he's already up by the time she comes to every morning. Sure, she can (and does) write it off to him being a morning person (ugh), the kind of guy that likes to rise with the sun. He's a surfer, someone used to being on the waves by the time the first rays of light are shining down across the San Fernando Valley. _

_It all makes sense. Really, it does._

_And yet, she finds that she is one hundred percent annoyed to be waking up alone._

_Not that she'd ever let him know that._

_Oh, no no no. He'd take it the wrong way. Or make stupid jokes. Or both._

_Whatever._

_She rolls over in the bed, winces a bit at the slight alcohol related hammering in her skull (good God, how many times had Kassel refilled her wine glass?) and then pushes herself to her feet. She wobbles just a bit, then steadies out. _

_She showers quickly, dresses even faster and then makes her way out to the kitchen where she knows he'll be, coffee ready and breakfast made._

_He doesn't disappoint her; as she comes into the kitchen, she sees pancakes waiting and a mug already filled with coffee._

"_Morning," he says as he sees her come in. He's in swim trunks and a blue Billabong tee. She glances down at herself, dressed in jeans and a gray full zip hoody. Neither of them are exactly what someone would call glamorous._

"_Morning," she mutters back. She picks up the coffee cup, inhales the rich vanilla aroma and then takes a deep swig of it. After all of their time working together, he's become something of a pro in regards to knowing how she likes her coffee. _

"_How'd you sleep?" Deeks asks, offering her the plate of pancakes._

_She shrugs, dropping down into a chair and picking up a fork._

"_Really? You were dreaming a lot." He says it lightly, but she can hear the slight undercurrent of concern._

"_Was I?"_

"_Yeah, kicking around and everything. Put your heel right into my shin."_

_She frowns. She can't remember any dreams that would have caused such a physical reaction. "Sorry," she finally says._

"_It's okay," he responds. "I like pain. And bruises. Really colorful ones."_

_Her only response is to roll her eyes. Seeing that he's not going to milk any sympathy out of her, he changes the subject._

"_So, today's the big day."_

"_That's right," she nods, almost like she'd forgotten (and for a bit, she had). "What time is your meeting with Kassel?"_

"_Ten this morning." He glances up at the digital clock above the oven – the one that say fifteen minutes until nine. "Sanchez is going to come pick me up in about forty-five minutes and take me over to Kassel 'office'."_

"_You know I don't trust that guy," Kensi notes. "Sanchez, I mean. He's creepy."_

"_You? You're creeped out?" Deeks teases. "I'll be damned, there is some girl in you somewhere."_

"_I didn't say that," she shoots back. "I said he was creepy, not that he creeps me out. There is a difference." And then, with a slight pout. "And I'm a girl."_

"_If you say so," he shrugs, blue eyes twinkling. She briefly considers tossing her coffee at him, but realizes it'd be a waste of good caffeine._

"_I do. Anyway, all I'm saying is there's something about that guy. I don't care what deal he struck, I think we should keep an eye on him."_

"_I agree. We'll keep him close," Deeks assures her._

"_Good."_

"_So," he starts, unable to stop himself. "How's the hangover?"_

"_There's no hangover," she answers quickly. _

"_Okay, sure."_

"_De…James." She smiles at she says the name._

"_Honey."_

"_I hate you."_

"_I know. I'll get you some aspirin."_

"_Thank you."_

"_You're welcome."_

"_I still hate you," she grumbles before swallowing a bite of pancake. She has to admit; he's a hell of a cook._

"_That's why we're so good together," he grins, offering her two pills. "Oh, wait a sec, I'll grab you some orange juice."_

"_Don't bother," she replies. "Don't need it." And with that, she tosses the pills in her mouth and then crunches them down dry. He watches, his look a disbelieving mix of amazement and disgust._

"_I was wrong; no girl there," he finally says._

_Her only response is an icy glare._

_His only response is a wide grin._

_They hold like that for a moment and then she laughs. _

_She can't help it. He may drive her insane, but he also has a way of making everything feel so silly and absurd that laughter really is the only solution. _

_Still smiling (and feeling a bit foolish), she says, "Go shower would you? You smell like dead fish."_

_He sniffs himself, then shrugs. "Anything for you, my sweet."_

_She groans and swats at him. Only a quick darting move on his part saves him. He grins at her and then takes off down the hallway. A few moments later, she hears the shower turn on._

_Shaking her head, she returns to her breakfast. _

_She thinks about the day ahead._

_The night previous had all been about setup, and it had worked. She'd caught Kassel's eye and Deeks had managed to get himself a "job interview"._

_Now is the frustrating part for her – the waiting and doing nothing._

_Today is all about Deeks. He and he alone has to convince Kassel to hire him. If he can do that, they're on their way._

_She's certain he can do it._

_Doesn't mean she's any happier that she can't do anything to help him out._

_

* * *

_

_Sanchez is perfectly on time, showing up at the front door of the apartment right around nine-thirty. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a non-descript hoody. When Kensi opens the door, she doesn't miss the way his eyes slide over her._

_Like a pervert sizing up his next target._

_Before she can say anything, however (and truthfully, she's not sure what she would say if anything at all), Deeks appears in the doorway._

"_Paul," Deeks says, and there's a slight warning tone in his voice. He steps in front of Kensi, partially blocking Sanchez's view of her._

"_Hey, Jimmy," Sanchez says easily. If he's annoyed by Deek's rather obvious visual block, he doesn't let on. "You ready?"_

"_Yeah. You sure I'm dressed okay?" Deeks asks. He sounds nervous and uncertain. Kensi has to give her partner credit; he's doing a bang up job of selling the part of a guy who knows he has to get the job one way or another._

"_You're fine," Sanchez answers. "It's all very casual. Don't worry."_

_Considering that everyone in the current conversation is in on the op, this whole thing is for show – it's all about making sure that if any of the neighbors are watching, James and Kara pass the sniff test. _

_Deeks turns to Kensi. "What are you going to do today?"_

"_I was thinking I'd head over to the mall."_

"_Just window shopping, right?" His tone is light, like a boyfriend that knows that he's treading dangerous ground here. Kara is a spender and a mall rat, but these two don't have the money for her shopaholic habits. Still, James wants her to be happy so he doesn't tend to call her on her expensive ways. At least that's what the write-up the LAPD guy created said._

"_Don't worry, honey," she assures him. "I'm just looking. Now go on. And hey, good luck." And with that, she leans up and gives him a quick peck on the lips._

"_Thanks." _

"_Ready?" Sanchez asks._

"_Yep."_

_As they turn to leave, Deeks doesn't miss the way Sanchez holds back just a moment – just long enough to do another visual sweep of Kensi._

_She's right, he realizes; Sanchez is not to be trusted._

_And maybe he is just a little bit creepy._

_No, if Kensi is creeped out by him, that means he's a whole lot creepy._

_Yeah, he's going to have to be kept close._

_Very close._

_

* * *

_

_Sanchez drives them damn near across Los Angeles, well down into the San Fernando Valley. As they head down Sepulveda, entering Van Nuys, Deeks can't stop himself from asking, "We going to a porn studio?"_

"_No, no, Mr. Kassel normally operates out of his beach house in Santa Monica, but he has business here today so it seemed as good a place as any to meet."_

"_Got it," Deeks answers, eyes skittering around. He grew up in this city, knows just about every part of it, even the bad ones. Still, finding ones way back to a spot can be tricky and often requires damn near perfect attention to detail._

"_Here we go," Sanchez says as they pull into a parking lot in front of a big metal warehouse. It's big and old, the paint on the outside stripped almost completely away. "Funny you mentioned a porn studio. This place used to be one a few years back. No idea why they abandoned it, but Mr. Kassel has used it since."_

_They get out of the car and walks towards the heavy metal doors. _

"_So any last bits of advice?" Deeks asks._

"_Just relax, Jimmy, you're good," Sanchez tells him, and then pulls the doors open. They creak just a bit before admitting the pair in._

_Once in, Deeks looks around._

_It has all of the trappings of a low budget Hollywood sound stage only it looks like it's been a few years since the set designer stopped by._

"_Right on time, Paul," Kassel calls out as he steps out of a room, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his rather expensive dark suit. "And you brought Jimmy. Fantastic. Come in, come in."_

_He leads them back through a jumble of tiny rooms, towards a rather bare office in the back. It occurs to Deeks that these guys probably go to great lengths not to leave too much of their business just lying around where the cops could find a way to happen upon it._

_As such, this office – well it could belong to anyone. A look around it shows nothing that screams that it belongs to a drug kingpin._

"_Sit," Kassel says, indicating towards a ratty chair in front of an old metal desk. "Would you like something to drink?"_

"_Uh, a coke?"_

_Kassel laughs. Then, seeing the confusion on Deek's face, he smiles and says, "Of course. Paul, if you would be so kind?"_

"_Sure, Boss."_

"_So, Jimmy," Kassel says, turning to face Deeks, "I understand that you have a problem, yes?"_

"_A problem?"_

_Kassel smiles again. It's probably meant to be empathetic in nature, but to Deeks it comes off as purely predatory. Right now, Chris Kassel is a shark playing with its food, chewing it up and getting it just right to devour._

"_Your finances, Jimmy."_

"_No, I'm fine," Deeks says quickly. "There's nothing for you to worry about, I mean. I'm not gonna steal from you or nothing."_

"_I wasn't worried about that at all. At least not yet anyway. Look, I know that money can be…uncomfortable to talk about, but I assure you, we have all had times when we didn't handle our obligations as we should."_

"_I'm not a deadbeat."_

"_I didn't say you were." Kassel leans forward. "I must say, Jimmy, I like your fire. And I like your integrity. I think we could be good for each other."_

"_I'm don't understand."_

"_What did Paul tell you about this job?"_

"_He said it was delivery stuff."_

"_That's about right. More or less."_

_At that moment, Sanchez reappears with a couple of bottles of beer – not the cheap stuff, but rather the real expensive import kind. He puts two bottles on the table. Deeks notices that they've already been opened._

"_Look, Jimmy, when Paul suggested you to me, I took the liberty of doing a pre-emptive background check on you." Kassel puts a file on the table, and then gently pushes it towards Deeks. "I presume you know what it says in there?"_

"_How…why?"_

"_I need to know the men working for me. You understand? I need to know the demons haunting the guys who are going to be taking care of my business. After all, I can't help you if I don't know what your poison is."_

_It's a horribly loaded statement, and Deeks doesn't miss the implied threat within. He also knows that as Jimmy Reese, he's not supposed to have a clue in the world about what Kassel is going on about._

"_Sir…"_

"_I'll be plain here, Jimmy, I have a very lucrative business that I'm running, and I need young men like you to move my…product around. I think you would be excellent for it. In exchange, I will pay you very, very well. That's what I mean when I say that we could be good for each other. Very good."_

"_What kind of business? And what kind of product?"_

"_The kind that you're familiar with," Sanchez says, dropping down into the chair next to him. When Deeks reacts with a show of surprise and then almost shy embarrassment, Sanchez follows up quickly with, "Hey, relax, buddy. We've all been there. Nothing to sweat around here. You're among friends."_

"_No, I'm past that stuff. I've got a girl…"_

"_Yes, you do. A very beautiful girl," Kassel nods, a smile flittering across his face. "And if I'm not mistaken, a girl who likes to run up large shopping bills that you have no real way of paying for. Women, right?"_

"_I can manage."_

"_There's that fire again. Stubborn pride, I like it. However, Jimmy, stubborn pride won't pay the bills and keep the lady from looking elsewhere."_

"_She wouldn't…she loves me…"_

"_I'm sure she does. But come on, let's be real. Maybe she wouldn't look around when you were in Arizona, and there wasn't much else to see, but here in Los Angeles? My friend, this town does not favor you, and there are men at every corner looking for a beautiful girl like yours to throw their money away on."_

_Deeks swallows. "So," he starts, trepidation in his tone. "What would I be doing?"_

"_Making deliveries to some of our regular clients, that's all." Kassel makes it sound so plain, so simple, almost like he's be delivering Girl Scout cookies._

"_So I wouldn't be dealing, right? Just dropping stuff off?"_

"_If that's all you ever want to do, that's all you ever have to do. And you'll make really good money doing it."_

"_You're saying I could make more…" Deeks stops. "No, nevermind, I don't want to know. I just…just delivering, that's it."_

"_Fine. So, Mr. Reese, do we have a deal?" Kassel holds out his hand._

_Deeks pretends to think about it. Then, slowly but surely, he extends his own palm and takes Kassel's. They shake._

"_Excellent." He points to the bottles of beer. "Imported from Ireland. Best of the best, trust me." He holds up the bottle. "To new business partners."_

_Deeks leans forward, picks up the bottle, and then clinks it against Kassel's. He makes sure to still be putting off a general vibe of uncertainty._

_Kassel doesn't seem to notice – or maybe care. "Good good. Now drink up, Jimmy. And welcome aboard."_

"_Thanks…thanks. So, how does this work?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_How do I know when to…"_

"_Paul?"_

_Sanchez turns to face him, and then repeats what he'd already said in the Interrogation Room of the Boathouse a week earlier, "When we have a delivery for you to make, we'll send you a text with an address. It'll probably be to some fast food dinner somewhere around LA. Every now and again, it might be here. Anyway, you pick up the package from your handler – probably me most of the time - and an address, and then you make the drop and collect the cash. You take five percent, and bring the rest back to me. I take five percent of that and then I bring the rest back to the boss."_

"_Pretty simple," Kassel says. _

"_Sounds nice. So, I'll be working with the regulars?"_

"_Not directly. In this business, Jimmy, no one trusts no one," Sanchez tells him. "If we're shipping to a City Hall guy living down in Marina Del Rey, he sure as hell ain't making the pickup or the buy himself. He doesn't want anyone connecting to him so he'll have his Chief of Staff or some lackey do all the dirty stuff that way if anything ever goes bad, his hands are completely clean."_

_None of this is new knowledge to Deeks, but it's interesting to him how much the bad guys seem to understand about the business of plausible deniability. _

"_When do I start?"_

"_Not for a few days. I want you to enjoy some of the spoils first," Kassel says._

"_Spoils?"_

_Sanchez reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. He peels off five one hundred dollar bills and hands them to Deeks._

"_A signing bonus if you will," Kassel tells him. "And I promise you, there will be plenty more where this came from if your work is good. Now take this and take your beautiful girl out on a night on the town. Let her know that you're everything she needs you to be."_

"_Thank you, sir." He pockets the cash._

"_Not a problem." He stands up. "Paul, if you'll close up around here? I'll walk Jimmy out to the car and meet you there."_

"_Certainly, Boss," Sanchez replies before turning and walking away._

"_Come on," Kassel says, indicating that Deeks should follow him back through the warehouse. They pass a small room with all glass walls, and then another that looks oddly enough like a made for television (or porn) dungeon._

_They're just about back to the entrance of the warehouse before Kassel speaks again. "Jimmy, there's one last thing I wanted to let you know about."_

"_Sir?"_

"_At some point this evening, a few of my men are going to stop by your apartment, and do a full sweep of it."_

"_Why?"_

"_Just to ensure that you're not a cop, and there's nothing for us to worry about."_

"_I'm not –"_

_Kassel holds up his hand to stop Deeks from speaking. "Even if you were, you'd say that so why don't we just skip this part. "_

"_What do I tell Kara if she's home – or if she comes home – and she wonders what these guys are doing in our apartment?"_

"_My guys are wearing coveralls so just tell her the landlord sent them over to check gas and power lines. Something tells me your girl won't have a problem with that."_

_Deeks wants to laugh, but instead manages, "Yeah, probably not." He thinks to himself that had Kensi heard that, she'd likely knee him in the groin in response._

"_My boys are very good at this and they will do their best to be as non-invasive as possible. If there's nothing to find, you have nothing to worry about."_

"_Okay," Deeks replies, sounding uncertain, and maybe a little scared. His tone reflects the idea that maybe he's having second thoughts about all of this._

"_Don't worry, Jimmy," Kassel laughs. "It's going to be fine. A couple days a week of work, and you'll be able to buy your girl a house and give her the wedding of her dreams in no time."_

"_That'd be nice."_

"_Yes, it would."_

_They step outside into the brightness of the Los Angeles afternoon. A look at his watch, and Deeks realizes that it's just after twelve noon._

"_I'll be seeing you soon, Jimmy," Kassel says, clapping him on the shoulder. He nods to Sanchez, who has also exited from the warehouse. "Paul, my regular office later?"_

"_Sure, Boss."_

"_Excellent."_

_And with that, he turns and strides away, off towards a very expensive SUV parked a few spaces away. Deeks makes a mental note of the model, but quickly notes the absence of license plates. _

_They get back into Sanchez's car. "See, I told you, piece of cake."_

"_You didn't tell me what kind of business you were in," Deeks replies, keenly aware of the chance that the car is bugged._

"_I knew you wouldn't come if I did. Look, your sheet, and your experience, everything you've told me about yourself, it all means one thing – you know that rules are just what society expects. You've done some of this stuff, it didn't do you any bad except for when the cops decided you'd done bad, right?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_And playing by the rules hasn't really helped you out much either, has it?"_

_It occurs to Deeks that Sanchez is trying to explain himself, trying to justify why he does what he does. It kinda makes Deeks want to slap him, but he bites back on that urge and plays along instead._

"_True."_

"_Now here's your chance to actually win a few. For you and your girl. I mean, she means a lot to you, right."_

"_Yes, she does," Deeks answers, and he tries to put some emphasis behind his words – the kind that says, "Back off."_

_Sanchez smiles. "Yeah, thought so."_

_There's a malicious undertone to the response, and for a moment, Deeks considers reaching over and slamming Sanchez's face into the steering wheels, but he bites back on that urge as well. Probably wouldn't go over well anyway._

"_So the guys tonight?"_

"_Usually two dudes. And to be honest, they're probably already there. Boss doesn't want you having any time to hide anything. Your girl is out, right?"_

"_I think so."_

"_That's good," Sanchez says, but it sounds to Deeks like he's a bit disappointed._

"_Yeah, it is," Deeks responds. He turns to look at Sanchez, meets his eyes and tries to make the point again – back off. _

_Sanchez's only response is a small half-smirk._

_

* * *

_

_The door to the apartment is standing open when Deeks and Sanchez enter. A quick look around reveals that Kensi is still out. _

"_There," Sanchez says, pointing to a burly man wearing what looks like a phone company uniform. The man sees Sanchez and recognizing him, nods hello._

"_They're being careful, right?" Deeks asks._

"_They won't break anything unless they have to."_

"_Hey, honey, I'm…"_

_Both men turn to see Kensi enter, shopping bags in hand. She stops, and watches as the burly man passes by her._

"_Um, Jimmy, who is that?"_

"_The landlord sent him over. They've been having some power issues."_

"_Oh, okay. Hi, baby." She steps forward and gives him a quick kiss. He can taste strawberry flavored gloss on her lips. To Sanchez she says warmly, "Paul."_

"_Hi, Kara," Sanchez answers, and then leans forward and kisses her cheek. She accepts it without showing the least bit of discomfort. _

_Deeks, on the other hand, wants to rip his throat out. Apparently, his warning about backing off of Kensi had gone unheard._

"_How did the interview go?"_

"_Great," Deeks replies. "I got the job."_

"_Yeah? Yay!" She practically throws herself into his arms and hugs him. For a moment, it surprises the hell out of Deeks; he's never seen her show this much girlish enthusiasm. And he's certainly never had her hug him like this._

"_Yeah. They even gave me a signing bonus. I was thinking we'd do dinner somewhere fancy tonight. Just you and me."_

"_I'd love to," she gushes, still hugging him._

_He kisses her cheek, hugs her back. "Good."_

_It's a weird moment for him, standing here holding his partner in his arms. He wishes he knew what she was thinking, wishes he knew if it's as awkward and odd for her as it is for him._

_If it is, she doesn't show it. She rests her hold on his shoulder, and whispers, "I knew you could do it."_

_He's not sure if she's talking to Jimmy or Deeks._

_Either way, he says simply, "Thank you."_

_Their weird strange odd hug is interrupted by the sound of the burly man and his partner coming into the room. He looks first at Sanchez, "All good."_

_Sanchez nods, but says nothing._

_Deeks pulls away from Kensi, "You, uh, found the power problem?"_

"_Yep, no worries at all," the burly guy says. "Take care."_

_And with that, he and his partner leave._

"_Well, I think that's my exit song as well," Sanchez sighs. "You two lovebirds have a fantastic evening. I'll be in touch soon, Jimmy."_

"_Sounds good," Deeks replies._

"_Kara," Sanchez says. "It is always a pleasure to see you." _

"_You, too, Paul," she replies, but stays next to Deeks._

"_Night," Sanchez tells them, and then turns and leaves. _

_Deeks shuts the door behind him, and then turns back to Kensi. Both of them now aware that every conversation they're having is likely being listened to, he motions to the bags on the ground, "So much for window shopping, huh?"_

"_Found some shoes I just couldn't resist."_

"_Uh huh."_

"_Didn't you say you were taking me out to dinner to celebrate?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Well then let's go. I'm starving. And I love it when you pay."_

"_Yes, you do."_

_

* * *

_

"Is this the warehouse?" Mike Renko asks as he steps inside the metal building located in the heart of Van Nuys. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Callen responds. "Used to belong to a porn production company a few years back. Now some investors back in New York own it, but I don't think anything has been done in it for awhile."

"Nothing legal anyway," Renko remarks as he glances around. "No power?"

"Not sure. There might be a breaker somewhere in the back."

"Nevermind that," Renko mutters. He pulls his backpack off, opens it up, takes out a flashlight and tosses it to Callen, who promptly turns it on.

Callen looks around, taking in the almost maze like floorplan of the building. "Kensi's Agent in Distress beacon brought us here last night. I don't think the Forensics team has had time to do a full rundown yet."

"Not a full one, but they did send over their preliminary findings and notes," Renko replies. He holds up an iPad. "Come on."

He leads them down a hallway, past a room with a bed in the middle of it. He brings them directly to another room, this one full of what looks like chains.

"Check out the ground," Renko says, pointing downwards.

Callen quickly sweeps his flashlight down. He sees streaks of red leading out of the room and down the hallway. "Blood."

"And on the walls, too. Someone got beaten up pretty bad in here, and then dragged out."

"Someone didn't," Callen notes, stepping over to the wall. "Bullet holes. Two of them." He reaches out and touches two circular indents in the wall.

"Right. 22s. Both bullets were recovered."

"Interesting."

"You said Kensi claimed Deeks got shot, right?"

"Right."

"That doesn't figure. The blood splatter in here doesn't indicate a bullet wound, and from where the shooter would have been standing..." Renko backs up to the entrance of the room, and then points at the wall with the holes.

"There's no way he could have missed," Callen finishes.

"Which means Deeks is alive. They lied to her. But why?"

"To break her," Callen responds. "Everything they did to her was about breaking her, including the overdose."

"Yeah." Renko flicks his hand across the screen of the iPad. "Oh, man."

"What? What is it?"

"Come on, you should see this."

Callen follows Renko out of the room, and down the hall again. As they walk, Callen notices that the blood streaks are on the ground, seeming to indicate that whoever was dragged was yanked along this path.

"In here," Renko says, stepping aside to reveal a room with glass walls. Only now, the walls are broken, like someone had been smashed into them. Red bloodstains trail down the sides.

"Kensi," Callen whispers. He looks back down at the blood trail. "Oh, God."

"Yeah. Whoever did this –"

"Kassel."

"Right, Kassel. He must have smashed her head into the wall. Once, twice, maybe three times. It's a damn wonder he didn't up gouging her eyes out or causing her even more damage."

"She's lying in a hospital bed unable to stay conscious or remember what the hell happened to her. I'd say he did more than enough damage."

"Didn't say otherwise, Callen. But she's alive. That's something, too."

"Yeah," Callen replies, reaching out to touch the dried blood droplets on the broken mirror. He can see dark hair stuck to it.

"Okay, so is this where you found Kensi?"

"No. We found her in the middle of the warehouse, a big open space."

"That must have been the actual warehouse part – where there's no sets and rooms. They brought her out there and –"

"That's where they injected her, and that's where they left her."

"Why bring her out of this room?"

"No idea," Callen replies, pulling his eyes away from the cracked mirror.

"G," Renko starts, and then stops.

"What?"

"Was she…I mean did they…I mean…"

"Was she raped?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. Doctors didn't say one way or another, and if Hetty knows, she's not saying. But why do you ask?"

"It might explain why they yanked her out of the room. There's a lot of glass everywhere. Someone lays down on the ground, they're just as likely to hurt themselves as they are to hurt her."

"There's got to be another reason," Callen insists. "Something besides that."

He's not naïve; he knows that the job they do tends to end violently and often horribly. He knows that rape (and often much worse than even that) is a very real possibility for female agents whose cover gets blown.

But this is Kensi.

Bad enough that they'd just about lobotomized her, but to think of anything more – anything worse – well right now, he can't.

He can't.

"I'm sure there is," Renko agrees. "Let's go have a look at where you found her."

"Right."

They make their way down the hallway, noticing drops of blood as they go.

"She was carried not dragged over here," Renko notes.

"Okay so, the goons drag her away from Deeks, bring her to the glass room. Kassel comes in, smashes her head against the wall and then has her carried into the middle of the warehouse?"

"Okay, fine, I can buy that, but we still don't have a why. Why not just shoot both of them back in the room with the cuffs? Why drag her around? Why pretend to kill Deeks? What's the point of all of this?"

"Got me," Callen shrugs. "Got me on all of this."

"Yeah, me too."

They step into the large open area of the warehouse – a place Callen remembers far too well. He'd been there less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Watching Sam cradle Kensi's broken body against his chest.

Considering all that, it's a damned miracle that she's alive and even slightly conscious today.

"There," he points, indicating towards an area in the middle of the warehouse. He can see droplets of blood staining the ground dark.

"Okay," Renko nods, looking around. Then, "Okay."

"What?"

"Camera tripod. There."

He points to an area about ten feet away from where Kensi had been lying. There's a thick layer of dust on the ground so the feet of where the tripod had been are still indented there.

"They were filming her."

"Kassel likes trophies," Renko says. "All the sickos do."

"Awesome," Callen replies bitterly.

"We'll get him, G."

"Yeah, we will."

Callen isn't a man prone to fits of dramatic overstatement. He's not the type to make promises he doesn't intend to keep.

And in his life, he's never wanted to catch a man as badly as he does right now.

He wants Christopher Kassel.

And he doesn't want to catch him; he wants to kill him.

* * *

"How are you feeling, Marty," Kassel asks as he enters the room.

"Oh, now we're calling me by my first name, huh? Is that in the Evil Drug Dealer handbook? How to make a connection with your hostages?"

"Page fifteen."

"Fantastic. Mind if I read the book? I'm kinda bored in here."

"Don't worry, I brought you some entertainment."

"Great. Popcorn, too?"

Kassel chuckles. He comes over and touches Deek's forehead. "You're burning up here, Marty."

"Is this where I'm supposed to beg you for another hit."

"Yes."

"Yeah, well fuck you, too."

"Charming."

He turns to the doorway, motions towards one of his guys. A moment later, the guy brings in a TV and VCR on a cart.

"Cool," Deeks quips between coughing fits. "I'm way behind on my soaps."

"You don't know when to quit do you?"

"No," he replies, lifting his eyes up.

"Maybe this will help."

He turns the TV on, and then pushes play on the VCR. The screen shows the dirty floor of the warehouse.

A moment later, the bloodied and badly bruised body of a dark haired woman is thrown to the ground, in full view of the camera.

"Kensi," Deeks whispers.

"Enjoy. Marty."

The door shuts, but Deeks doesn't take any notice of it. All he sees is the screen.

All he sees is Kensi.

Bloody. Beaten. Broken.

Dying.

**TBC….**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: And we're back on the every two weeks schedule. Another fairly long chapter here, hopefully moving the story along here. Word of warning about this chapter - there's some very salty language herein. Also, the violence starts to step up a bit. As always, I advise starting from chapter 1. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for all of the kind words - they really do encourage me to keep at this.**

* * *

He thinks that if he could have gauged out his eyes to stop himself from watching the video, he would have. Being that his hands are still unavailable to him, what with them being cuffed to the chair he's in and all, that's not an option for him.

So instead, he tries to simply close his eyes, but he quickly realizes that his frantic effort to block out the video is all in vain. Because no matter how he tries to shut his eyes against the images, he can still hear the sounds.

Her screams. Their laughter.

It's only when he hears Kassel say, "Shoot her up, and let's get the hell out of here," that he opens his eyes.

His eyes reluctantly on the screen in front of him, he sees her lying on the ground – his partner, his friend – bleeding and bruised, her clothes torn, a man crouched atop her, his hands touching parts of her that he has no right to be touching.

He watches as Kassel hands the man a syringe. Almost methodically, the man ties Kensi's arm off, very quickly finding a vein. Just before he injects her, he leans down close to her, his mouth inches from hers, like he's going to kiss her.

Only the shadow of Kassel moving into his light stops him from doing it. The man looks up at his boss, and then leans back down and presses the needle into Kensi's vein. She gasps, her mouth opening wide, and her back arching. A small decidedly un-Kensi like whimper escapes from between her lips.

"No, come on, it's too much," Deeks whispers feebly as he watches Kassel empty the syringe into her vein. She's already shaking, already trembling fiercely.

The two men above her watch her for a moment, and then Kassel bends down and touches her face, almost gently. "Rest in peace, Agent Blye."

He stands back up and motions towards the camera. "Turn it off and let's go."

"Sure, Boss," the man says.

Deeks stares at the man, anger flowing through him. He knows this man, knows him well, knows that he should have known better than to ever trust him. They all should have.

"Sanchez," he growls.

"At your service, my friend," Paul Sanchez says, stepping into the room and pushing pause on the video as he enters. The screen freezes on a close-up of Kensi's bruised and now tear-stained face. Her typically beautiful features are horribly contorted, stretched by her pain and fear. "You like my work? I edited that together just for you, added some better lighting, sharpened things up."

"Why? Why did you do this You had a sweetheart deal on the table."

"Boss made me a better deal."

"Your life?"

"Something like that." He glances back at the screen, then reaches out a hand and touches the image of Kensi's face. "Even like this, you have to admit that she's beautiful woman, no?" It strikes Deeks as slightly odd that Sanchez seems to be talking about Kensi in the present tense. He stamps down on the surge of hope by convincing himself that it's probably just an inadvertent turn of phrase.

"You're a cowardly piece of shit," Deeks hisses, trying to get Sanchez's attention back on him. It doesn't matter that Kensi's not actually in the room, it doesn't matter that she's already dead – Deeks doesn't want the bastard speaking about her much less looking at her.

His words work like a charm; it's like a switch is flipped somewhere inside of Sanchez, and suddenly the almost amused expression that he had been wearing fades away only to be replaced by fury. He strides quickly across the room, and balling his fist, strikes Deeks hard across the face.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die," he says as Deeks jerks to the side, staying seated in the chair only because he's being held there by the metal cuffs.

Deeks laughs (almost manically, he thinks) and spits out a mouthful of bright red blood, the metal taste sharp and tangy against his tongue. Then, looking up, smirking, "Not if I get to watch you die first. And I will. I promise you, I will."

"You don't get it, do you, Jimmy-boy?"

"Deeks. My name is Deeks."

"Your name is whatever the fuck we want it to be, you get it? You're whoever the fuck we want you to be now. You want to live another day after this one, you best start thinking about ways to become valuable to us."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about something you're not yet ready to consider, but you will be. And sooner than you think."

Deeks laughs again as he picks up on the implication (it's not a new one in his line of work – he's seen more than a few once considered "incorruptible" cops go bad.) "You're insane if you think I'd ever flip." He looks back towards the TV screen. "The only thing I care about anymore is making you pay for that."

"I know," Sanchez nods. "But the closer you get to realizing you actually are going to die in this dirty little room, the easier it will be."

A burly man (Deeks thinks he recognizes him from the inspection at his apartment several weeks earlier) steps into the room and hands Sanchez a small box. Sanchez opens it and takes out a rubber cord and a syringe.

"I have a job I need to attend to for Mr. Kassel, but I wanted to give you a present first," Sanchez tells him, gazing at the liquid inside of the syringe.

"I thought I had to ask for it," Deeks reminds him, a hint of hysteria in his tone. He feels panic go through him. His plan – admittedly a flimsy and ill designed one – was to find a way to refuse the drugs long enough to stage just a small breakout.

Just enough of one to take down at least Sanchez and hopefully Kassel.

He'd fostered no delusions of surviving the breakout attempt. But then, it hadn't been about that anyway.

It had been about revenge. And guilt.

And Kensi.

"We changed out minds," Sanchez smirks. "So will you. Everyone does. No matter what you think, Jimmy-boy…Deeks, you're nothing special."

And with that, he injects the needle.

As the heroin fills his veins, Deeks tries to focus on his partner. He turns his eyes away from Sanchez and back to the television screen, back to Kensi and the raw unfiltered agony that is contorting her facial features. Sanchez is wrong; she's not beautiful like this and he hates his captors for that. Among many things.

He tries to focus on his anger and his need to get vengeance for her.

He tries to focus on his plan – get loose just long enough to kill Sanchez and Kassel. Just long enough. Just long. Just…

And then there's nothing but peace.

All of the fear, all of the anger, it flows away.

He remembers the first girl he ever kissed, how soft her lips were.

He remembers the first woman he ever slept with, her gentle her arms were.

He remembers the last woman he made love to, how astonishingly strong and beautiful she was even when….

He shakes his head and forces the thoughts away.

He tries to think about his plan, but he realizes soon enough that he just doesn't care anymore.

He surrenders to the drugs, to the memories, to the peace.

He forgets about his plan.

Instead, he remembers a night of walking along the beach, the water lapping at his bare feet, the sand scratching against his ankles…

* * *

"_I'm stuffed," Kensi moans loudly, and not for the first time.  
_

"_You're the one who ordered a sixteen ounce steak," Deeks shoots back. "You know, you don't have to take every dare every time."_

"_And if I hadn't, I'd never hear the end of it," she replies with a lazy smile._

"_Probably true," he chuckles. "Still, a seventy-five dollar steak? Really?"_

"_You only want the best for me, don't you, honey?" She tosses him a wide-toothed grin._

"_Of course. I'm just saying, usually that kind of dinner gets…" She lifts an eyebrow and he stops abruptly. "Right. And moving along." He glances around, taking stock of where they are. They're in Santa Monica, reasonably close to the Mission if they wanted to just drop in and say hello._

_Which, of course, they won't. Cover and all that._

_Instead, his eyes flicker down towards the beach._ "_Fancy a stroll on the beach, Kara, my love?"_

"_It's kind of cold," she notes. And for Los Angeles, it is somewhat chilly, the thermostat somewhere just north of fifty-five degrees._

"_Come on," he grins. "I dare you."  
_

_She turns to face him, and smiles up at him. Suddenly, it occurs to him that he has no idea what she's thinking right at this moment. The expression on her face seems almost loving and full of affection – not emotions that Kensi Blye typically broadcasts to anyone, especially him. _

"_Well when you say it like that," she drawls, "Of course, I'd love to."_

_He holds out his hand to her. She immediately takes it, intertwining her fingers with his. He guides her down the cracked streets, towards the beach. They're a bit away from the Santa Monica pier so this stretch of sand is far less populated. Instead, there's only a few couples spread around, most of them curled up together on blankets or towels._

"_Cozy," Kensi notes dryly, flicking her hand towards a couple that is clearly doing a lot more than just cuddling._

"_Nice night for it," he responds._

"_Uh huh," she answers before reaching down to pull off her sandals. "Shall we?"_

"_Sure," he says, walking them towards the surf. Just before they're there, he pulls off his sneakers and socks and then places them on the dry sand just a few feet above where the water is coming up to. Kensi drops her sandals next to his, wrapping her arms around his waist as she does so. He looks up at her, eyebrow lifted._

"_Are we okay?" she asks, her face practically against his. _

_It's an odd question, a seemingly out of nowhere one, but he understands it perfectly. All throughout their dinner at the steakhouse, they'd stayed in character, acting like James and Kara – acting like two young adults enjoying an extraordinarily rare treat of a very expensive dinner. _

_Now, however, she wants to know if it's okay to break cover and be Kensi for a moment. It can be a dangerous thing slipping back and forth between character and reality, but sometimes, it's the only way to maintain self and sanity._

_He smiles slightly, one of his hands going over hers and running it over his chest. It's a very sensual move, but he's not coming on to her or suggesting anything erotic. No, he's simply telling her that he's not bugged. _

_He'd wondered about that after Kassel had walked him out. He knew their apartment would be audio bugged, but he had been curious about anything that might have been placed on his clothes. In his time doing undercover work, he'd seen it happen a time or two. It was almost always a waste of a good bug because of quick clothing changes, but the more paranoid a mob boss, the more likely he was to bug anything he could._

_In this case, however, Kassel's apparent arrogance had won out meaning no audio bugs had been placed on either his or Kensi's clothing (he'd made sure to do a visual check on her as well after Sanchez had leaned in towards her). _

_Of course, with Kensi, it hadn't mattered; she'd changed into a dress to go out to dinner in. And oh, what a dress. Short without being too revealing. Colorful without being audacious. Low cut at the top without being overly provocative._

"_You're staring at me," she whispers into his ear._

"_Sorry," he says quickly. "Uh, we're good. I mean clear."_

"_Good," she answers, taking his hand again and walking him into the surf. While they're reasonably sure that they can't be overheard, they have no doubt that they might be being watched by some of Kassel's men. That possibility is one of the reasons they had gone out of their way to be so much in character at dinner._

_And now, even now, in at least appearance, they continue to be James and Kara._

"_You grew up here?" she asks finally, about five hundred feet down the surf. _

_Her words pull him from his thoughts, which had drifted off into thinking about…well nothing, really. That's the pleasure of the surf, he muses, how wonderful it is at making the world and all of its craziness just disappear.  
_

"_Yeah," he finally responds, and then laughs._

"_What?"_

_"It's nothing." He looks out towards the water, the moon glinting off of it. It's only about six at night, but the sun has already long vanished into the winter night._

"_What is it?" she prompts again._

"_When I was a kid, when I was growing up, me and my dad…" he shakes his head and when he speaks again, there's a hint of a bitter laugh in his tone, "We never really ever got along. Ever. So I did everything I could to be somewhere else whenever I could be. I started coming down to the beach. Take a bus, ride a bike, hitchhike if I have to. Just get here. Starting hanging with the surfers and badgering them to teach me. And they did."_

"_Sounds nice."_

"_It was. Whole summers disappeared here. I'd get to the beach at four in the morning, wouldn't leave until night. Found some odd jobs around the area, anything to keep me here and not there."_

"_I'm sorry," she says, squeezing his hand._

_He looks down at their hands, almost like he'd forgotten that they were intertwined. For a moment, he doesn't know what to say in response (a rare and somewhat annoying thing indeed), but finally, almost gruffly, "Don't be."_

_He can tell immediately that she's a bit stung by his tone. "Sorry," she says again, and this time she means for getting too much inside of his head. This time, she's apologizing for having got a glimpse beneath the mask._

_He feels like an ass._

_This is his partner, the one person in the entire world that he has to trust. She should be the one person that knows who the man beneath the many different covers and well-created fake personalities is. _

_And yet, he finds that he doesn't have the words to tell her such._

_They fall into an uneasy silence, only the sound of rushing water and their soggy footsteps filling his ears._

_He wants to apologize, wants to tell her that he doesn't regret letting her see what she did, for however long she did. And yet he can't because he realizes that she's still keeping her mask on._

_And her mask is a lot harder to get off. If it's even possible at all._

_No, he realizes, it's possible. It just hurts like hell when it slips._

_He thinks about watching her in the room with that little jackass Talbot – thinks about her having to lay all of her pain bare, knowing full well that her team had been just outside, hearing it all. Her mask had slipped then and she'd paid the price for it._

_It only gets harder after that._

"_Hey," she says softly._

_He looks at her. "What?"_

"_Your pants are getting wet."_

_He looks down at his once beige slacks, now darkened by the rushing water. The he shrugs. "Your turn." Suddenly, he gives her a hard push towards the water. She shrieks, decidedly lady-like for once, and stumbles off-balance into the surf, the freezing water rushing over her face._

_It's far too cold of a night to be playing in the ocean, but he doesn't care. He just knows that this moment is one that needs to happen between them. This easy, simple, uncomplicated, stupidly fun moment._

_She gasps in surprise, and then looks up at him, the side of her face covered in dark wet sand. "You ass," she calls out, her mismatched eyes sparking dangerously and a bit mischievously, a hint of a humor in her tone letting him know that his life is not in danger._

"_Now you're wet, too," he grins._

"_Yeah, well you're not wet enough," she answers, and then grabs him by the legs and pulls him towards her. He falls forward, arms out to brace and collapses atop her, both of them in the surf, water slapping against them, soaking them._

_Anyone who is watching would call it sensual and romantic moment, but for them, it's simply a few seconds of no danger._

_Peace._

_And then she pushes her knee up against his crotch._

"_Hey," he gasps, looking down at her._

"_Get off me."_

"_You could just ask. You don't have to threaten."_

"_I haven't yet," she teases. Then she gives him a push backwards, which causes him to fall away from her and back into the surf. _

_Laying flat on his back, covered in wet sand and cold water, he looks up at her. "Hey, I can see through your dr…"_

_She groans and walks away from him, up the sand._

"_Hey!" he calls out. "You just going to leave me here?"_

_Without turning, she replies, "Come on, it's cold out here, stop playing in the sand like a three year old."_

"_You pulled me in," he retorts, standing up and running up the beach, his wet pant legs slapping loudly together._

_She stops and looks at him, eyes gleaming wickedly, "I did, didn't I?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I suppose you could say, I won that one."_

"_Oh, so that's what that was all about?" He tries to play it hurt, but she sees right through him and laughs._

_She steps towards him, circling her arms around his waist. He thinks that if he were a lecherous man or one without respect for his partner, he would notice how thin and wet the material is between him. Of course, he both has respect for her and is not by nature a lecherous man. That and he's a smart one._

_This time anyway._

"_Deeks," she whispers in his ear. "It's always about winning." Before he can form a response, she pulls away from him and grabbing her sandals, makes her way up the beach, towards the street._

_He sighs. Shaking his head with amusement, he bends to pick up his own shoes. As he stands back up, he notices a in the parking lot above, leaning casually against his Porsche, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible._

_To a cop like Deeks, however, the man sticks out like a sore thumb._

_He sticks out like some who is there specifically to watch some folks stroll along the beach. Maybe folks like he and Kensi – a seemingly young and innocent couple enjoying a romantic walk along the sand._

_He looks away quickly, so as not to let the man know that he'd seen him, but he has no doubt that the man is one of Kassel's guys._

_In fact, now that he thinks about it, he's pretty sure he saw the guy at the steakhouse as well, sitting a few booths away, enjoying a prime rib of his own._

_As Marty Deeks, these realizations come easy to him. As James Reese, he pretends he notices nothing. _

_Instead, he simply wanders up the beach, slides an arm around the now shivering form of his partner and gives her a quick kiss on the neck, moving her slightly around as he does, just enough to enable her to catch a glimpse of their observer as she tilts her head to give him access to her neck._

_She slides a hand against his face, scratching gently at his beard with her short nails. "Nice," she purrs. If she were his real fiancée, she'd be pretty much assuring him one hell of a night. Right now, though, Kensi is just playing her part to ridiculous perfection._

_He reluctantly moves away from her, pulling the passenger door of the car open. She reaches into the backseat, pulls out a towel and puts it beneath her. He heads around to the opposite side, stealing one more glance at their observer, and then getting into the Honda himself._

_It occurs to him that maybe they should have spent the time on the beach talking about the case, maybe planning their next move. Then again, though, the game plan for this one is pretty simple; get inside Kassel's org, crawl in even deeper, and then do whatever it takes to bring down the bad guys._

_He reaches across to the passenger side and takes Kensi's hand. For the briefest of moments, she's surprised; the car might be bugged, but no one's watching. He squeezes her hand. She looks up at him, and for just a second, he lets his mask slip and he lets her see inside (panicking all the while). _

_He lets her see it all. All of the pain, all of the hurt, all of the fear._

_And the other stuff, too._

_Like the almost violently compulsive need to make a difference. To be someone worth a damn. Someone his father could be proud of even if he never will be._

_He lets her see his trust for her as well._

_She stares at him for a moment, and he wishes he could see inside her mind, hear her thoughts and know if she really reciprocates the trust. After a moment though, her only answer is to squeeze his hand back._

_Good enough, he thinks. _

_For now anyway.  
_

_

* * *

_"Deek is alive," Callen announces as he and Renko enter the bullpen.

"You're sure?" Sam challenges.

"They faked the shooting. Two bullets in the wall, and only two shells found," Callen answers, showing the group the picture of the room on the iPad.

"Maybe they cleaned up their brass," Sam offers.

"No. These guys left in a hurry; they didn't bother removing anything else around the area. It was sloppy and violent," Renko counters.

"Deeks is alive," Eric repeats softly, sounding almost incredulous.

Hetty nods. "At least for now. But we're almost twenty-four hours in. His odds of survival decrease with every hour that he's missing."

"And Deeks doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut," Callen notes. "Which decreases his odds even more."

"Why would they keep him alive at all?" Eric asks.

"Payback?" Renko offers. "We've seen it before; the cop who effectively infiltrated them is held for a few days and tortured to death. It's a sign to other cops – this will happen to you, too."

Sam turns to Callen. "How much time you figure he has?"

"Depends on what they want him for. If it's payback like Renko said, a few days at most. If it's something more than that, then maybe he has a bit more time. We can't be sure,"

"Right," Sam nods, suddenly seeming distracted. He reaches out and picks up Renko's iPad. He pinches a photo to make it larger.

"See something?" Callen asks.

"Maybe. Renko, who's the guy in this picture?"

He points to a picture that had been snapped just outside of the warehouse. It had been meant to show the exterior of the building and all of its identifying marks. In the photo, cops are swarming about.

Off to the side, however, looking like just a regular guy who'd happened to casually wander by is a man in a baseball cap and a black hoodie. He looks like he's intentionally trying to hide his face from cameras.

Renko leans in. "No idea. Why?'

"There's something about him," Sam notes. "Something familiar."

"Wait, let me see that," Callen demands, taking the iPad from him. He flips through a few pictures, and then increases one o full size. Then, to Eric, "Can you make this even bigger?"

"Probably, why?"

"Check out the reflection off the window of the car over there."

"Might be a face," Eric nods. He grabs the iPad, hooks it up to an adapter, pulls out a keyboard and starts typing. A moment later, the picture appears on the LCD in front of the group. "Zooming in, zooming in and…hey, isn't that…"

"Sanchez," Callen finishes softly as the face of their former snitch comes up on the screen, a bit unfocused and fuzzy in nature, but clear enough to make the ID.

"Son of a bitch," Sam growls.

"This your inside guy?" Renko asks.

"Apparently not," Callen replies, grabbing for his car keys. A moment later, he's striding purposefully down the hallway, trailed closely by Renko and Sam.

"Wait," Eric says, once the men vanish from sight. "Why do they think…they think Sanchez is going after Kensi?"

"They're not sure. But they're going to make sure that Ms. Blye is all right."

"What about the guards that Bernhardt has on her?"

"Hopefully they're enough."

Eric swallows and nods. The unspoken implication is that Hetty rather suspects that they're not enough to stop Kassel or Sanchez from going after Kensi.

"Eric," she says softly, fatigue in her voice. "We'll know what's going on soon enough. In the meanwhile…"

"I know. The journals, right? We have to be doing something, right?" He's just about babbling now.

She offers him a small smile of understanding. "Yes," she says. "We have to be do something."

* * *

_The first drop is almost ridiculously easy. But then again, it's not like this is the first time that Marty Deeks has ever pretended to be a drug courier. _

_Just the same, his first transaction for Christopher Kassel takes place in the parking lot of a very old Taco Bell in Encino, over a box full of bean burritos and hard tacos. _

_His first client is a young college kid who looks like he's been doing pick-ups for his boss for years. The kid is dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt, but his walk is casual, easy and more than a little cocky. When he approaches with the box of food, he calls out and says, "Hey, I hope you don't like soft tacos. I hate that shit."_

_Deeks laughs. "No, I'm a burrito guy." He reminds himself to act slightly nervous, just in case this is a test. He's supposed to be new at this, and so some degree of nerves are to be expected. If this isn't a test, then it's one of Kassel's most trusted regulars, the kind of guy that knows the game and how to play it._

"_Awesome." The kid offers him the box. For about ten minutes, they lean against the hood of Deek's car, eating in silence. Then, the guy asks, "You from around these parts, buddy?_

"_Nah. Arizona."_

"_Fucking hot out there."_

"_You get used to it."_

"_Sure you do if your AC is running twenty-four fucking seven, right?"_

"_Yeah," Deeks laughs. He makes note of the kid's rather crass speaking rhythms. He's probably not an assistant to a politician with that kind of mouth on him. Much more likely is it that he works for some kind of celebrity, either a musician or a comic. And definitely a male one. _

"_Nah, I prefer beautiful LA. A nice 80 degrees even in January and only a few days of one hundred plus. Once you get used to all the smog, it's paradise, you know?"_

"_I could certainly get used to the beaches."_

"_And the babes, right? You have to admit, they're better out this way." As he's saying this, his hand slides inside the front pocket of his hoodie, and then he's extracting an all white unmarked envelope. He slides the envelope into the box of tacos and then hands it – casual as can be - over to Deeks. "I mean, Jesus Christ, have you ever seen tits and ass like this?"_

_Deeks reaches into the box, pulls out another burrito and the envelope at the same time. With one hand, he unwraps the burrito, with the other; he slides the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. "No," he admits. "This is…new."_

"_Yeah. And there's so many of them." The guy takes a sip from his soda, slurping loud enough to make it clear that the cup it empty. Then, he places the cup behind him on the hood of his car._

"_I got a girl," Deeks shrugs, turning around and putting the box of food on the hood next to the cup. Using the bulk of his body to hide the cup from view, he pulls the plastic lid off and inserts four small glass vials into the cup. He puts the lid back on, then turns back around and resumes eating his burrito._

"_Everyone who comes out this way comes with a girl, bro. I give it three months until you realize Ms. Arizona can't possibly compete with the girls out here who will do anything for what they want. You just got to find their poison." And with that, he reaches back, grabs the cup again and takes a sip from the dry straw._

"_I guess so," Deeks replies._

"_You'll figure it out soon enough, bro," the guy says. He pats Deeks on the shoulder, and then starts to wander away. After a moment, he stops and turns back. "Oh, some advice, cut that fucking hair. We LAers only have shag like that in the movies." He laughs and disappears into the shadows, off towards his car._

_Self-consciously, Deeks runs his fingers through his hair. "Awesome," he mutters. He shakes his head and then heads around to get into the car._

_

* * *

_

_About ten minutes later, he's at the warehouse in Van Nuys. _

_Sanchez is waiting for him outside the doors, wearing a baseball cap and smoking a cigarette._ "_How'd it go?" he calls out._

"_Piece of cake, I think."_

"_Good, good. Let's see it."_

_Deeks reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the envelope. Sanchez takes it from him, opens it up, counts the cash inside and then nods. "Looks good. Come on. Boss wants to pay you himself this time."_

_He leads them inside the building. Once again, Deeks is struck by just how massive this warehouse is.  
_

_Sanchez knocks on the door to the office in the back. "Me and Jimmy, Boss."_

"_Come in," Kassel's voice calls out._

_Sanchez pushes the door open and they enter. He puts the envelope down on the table. "All here."_

"_Fantastic." Kassel reaches out and picks up the envelope. He counts out several bills and then holds them out to Deeks. "Your cut."_

_Deeks doesn't make a move to take it, his expression one of wariness, like he's still not completely convinced that this is a good idea._

"_Don't worry, Jimmy, it's get easier. Six months from now when you're planning your three week long Honeymoon to the Bahamas, you won't have a worry in the world about a few drives across town a week."_

"_Right." _

"_Go on, Jimmy, take the money. You earned it."_

_Slowly, Deeks reaches across and takes the cash from him._

"_Wonderful. Now that that is done, I wanted to invite you and your beautiful fiancee out to dinner tomorrow night."  
_

"_I'll have to check with her."_

"_Really?"_

"_I mean, I'm sure she'll be fine with it. You know what, we'll be there."_

"_That a boy. Never let your woman run the show. You wear the pants, don't forget that, all right?"_

_Deeks almost laughs. Instead, he forces a smile. _

"_I'll have Paul text you the name of the restaurant sometime tomorrow."_

"_Okay."_

"_Good. Now if you don't mind, Paul and I have some business to address. I believe you know the way out of the warehouse?"_

_

* * *

_

_The next day moves slowly – Kensi calls it anxiety and is nearly relentless in her teasing of him. When they're outside and away from the possible prying ears of the audio bugs, she can't help but say, "I thought you were the grizzled pro."_

"_I am. We're heading into his playground," Deeks insists. "I don't know what this dinner is all about."_

"_Control," she replies. "Remember what Sanchez said when we got him? He tries to control his couriers through their girlfriends." _

"_Yeah, I recall." _

"_I can handle my own," she reminds him._

"_I've never doubted that. Not for a moment. But I'm not exactly excited about putting you in the line of fire, either."_

"_It's under control," she assures him._

_He chuckles. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"_

"_Why?"_

"_Because you're the only person in the world – even more than Callen or Sam – who I actually believe when they say that. I believe just about everything you say, and that's ridiculous, too. You tell me you can hotwire a helicopter –"_

"_Piece of cake," she grins, and he's not sure if she's being serious or not._

_He snorts, and then finishes, "-and I believe you. That's what ridiculous."_

"_Is that a compliment?"_

"_It's something like that."_

"_Well, thank you."_

_"Anytime, partner."_

_

* * *

_

_The restaurant ends up being a fancy Italian place in the middle of Beverly Hills. For just the briefest of moments, Deeks considers making a crack about the Godfather and clichés, but wisely thinks better of it._

_The two of them are lead into a private back room, where several couples are gathered. Kassel is there with a beautiful blonde woman. To his side is Sanchez and another blonde, this one almost frighteningly young looking._

_They enter arm in arm, Deeks in a nice suit and Kensi in another showy dress, this one providing a nice view of her muscular legs._

"_Jimmy," Kassel calls out. He stands up and offers a hand to Deeks. Deeks takes it. Kassel then turns to Kensi. "And Kara. You're looking…well absolutely stunning this evening."_

_She smiles widely, seeming utterly charmed. "Thank you," she replies. She accepts a kiss on the cheek and a hug from him._

"_Please sit." He motions to the woman at his side. "My wife, Gabrielle."_

_It doesn't surprise either Deeks or Kensi that this horrible man is married. It just amazes them how often this seems to be the case._

_The two of them sit down, and almost immediately, wine is put in front of them. _

"_So, Kara, picking up on our conversation from the night of the party, you're a theater major, right?" Kassel asks.  
_

"_Yeah. I've always wanted to act. So cliche, right?"_

"_We all have dreams, sweetheart."_

_Deeks sneaks a sideways glance over at Kensi; "sweetheart" is certainly not one of her favorite terms of endearment. To her credit, she doesn't react at all._

"_Whatever happens," she shrugs._

"_Of course. Well if you recall, I told you that I'm something of a producer myself. While I'm not currently casting for anything myself, my wife might be able to help with that. She actually works with many of the casting agencies around town. Maybe she can set you up with a few auditions."  
_

"_Really?" Kensi gushes, like she can't contain her excitement. "I mean, is that even possible?"_

_Kassel turns to his wife and nods his head slightly. Dutifully, Gabrielle Kassel nods. "Of course it is, honey. How about you and I go over to bar and get something a little bit stronger than this wine. We'll talk about it there."_

"_I'd love that," Kensi replies, standing up. To Deeks she says, "You mind, baby?" _

"_Not at all," he replies._

"_Come on," Gabby says, reaching out and taking Kensi by the arm. She guides Kensi over towards the bar._

_As soon as they are out of earshot, Kassel motions to the chair next to him. "Sit here, please, Jimmy."_

"_Okay," Deeks replies, moving chairs. He sees Sanchez look up at him, clearly curious about the conversation that is about to happen._

"_She's stunning, Jimmy."_

"_Yeah, she is."_

"_We should talk about her."_

"_Sir?" Deeks turns back to face Kassel, showing confusion on his face._

"_Have you spent any of the money you earned yesterday?"_

"_A little bit. On rent. And a little bit on her. She has expensive tastes."_

"_I bet. Here's the thing, Jimmy, the moment you took that money, you joined the team. I'm a big team guy, Jimmy. You know what that means?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_It means that I put the team about everything else. Everyone else. Above me. Above you." He looks over towards Kensi and Gabrielle. "Above our women."_

"_Sir, I'm still not understanding."_

"_You're very new at this and I know it can at times see weird and overwhelming. You're probably at war with your base morality. You probably keep asking yourself what the hell am I doing?"_

_Deeks looks away._

"_Relax, Jimmy, it's only natural."_

_Deeks lets out a breath. "I can't tell you how good it is to hear you say that. I –"_

"_Now get over it."_

"_What?"_

"_You're in the game now, Jimmy. You've made your first drop. You carried almost five thousand dollars worth of heroin across the city. You made two hundred and fifty dollars off of it. And you know, if you'd been picked up by the cops, you'd likely be looking at at least a dime behind bars."_

_Deeks swallows. "Why are you telling me all this?"_

"_Because I need you to understand. There's going to come a moment when the impact of what you're doing hits you and you'll get a crazy thought in your head that maybe if you just go to the cops, they'll cut you a deal and everything will be all right. You'll be all right."_

"_I…"_

"_And maybe that's true. Maybe they will cut you a deal and instead of a dime, you do a nickel in a low security Club Med." He looks across the room, towards where Kensi and Gabrielle are getting drinks at the bar. "She is beautiful. Tell me, is she that beautiful in bed, too? I bet she is."_

"_Are you threatening her?" Deeks asks, an edge of alarm in his tone._

_Kassel chuckles. "I don't make threats, Jimmy." He lowers his voice then and leans in. "I make promises." He slides a hand over Deek's left one. "I'm not a man to be betrayed. You try to go to the cops, you try to fuck me over, and I will rip her limb from limb. I promise you this; I will put her in the fucking ground, but before I do, I will destroy her. "_

_Deeks wonders what a real Jimmy would be feeling right now. He imagines that it's fairly close to the panic he feels, even knowing how strong and capable his partner is – how much she really can take care of herself._

"_Do you understand what I've just said, Jimmy?"_

"_Ye…yes."_

"_Good, good." Then he claps Deeks on the shoulder. "Now lighten up and drink your wine. The food will be here soon and I wasn't lying before, it's excellent. The best spaghetti I've ever had. I mean that, too."_

_It's a bit like the previous conversation had never occurred. Kassel seems calm and at ease, his posture relaxed and almost jovial. It's more than a bit disconcerting. But then, it's probably to be expected from a man who is absolutely a certifiable sociopath._

_Deeks looks first across the bar again, his eyes lingering on Kensi. She sees him, and offers a smile. He tries to return it, but can't quite make it work._

"_You'll probably not want to say anything to her about all this," Kassel says calmly, breaking apart a breadstick and using it to stir a cup of soup. "A girl isn't likely to understand business like ours."_

"_No," Deeks agrees, eyes still on her. He knows that he's worrying her, but he can't quite pull his gaze away from her. Almost out of nowhere, there's something in the bit of his stomach, something that feels a whole lot like a really bad gut feeling, the kind that seems to say "this is about to go really bad, really soon"._

"_You're scaring her," Kassel notes. "She thinks something is wrong. Give her a smile. A real one now, Jimmy. Let her know that nothing is wrong. Let her know that you're going to make her the happiest woman in the world. That's all women care about. That's all she needs to know of anything."_

_Deeks thinks to himself that he can't wait until they're able to end this whole op by arresting Kassel. He thinks maybe he'll make sure to give Kensi just enough time to get in a good kick to the balls. This guy actually deserves it._

_Still, Deeks forces another smile, this one slightly more convincing. Kensi pretends to buy it, then turns her attention back to Gabrielle._

"_We're going to make a great team," Kassel assures him. "All you have to do is never forget the team." _

"_I won't," Deeks promises._

"_That's my boy," Kassel laughs._

_Deeks' eyes flicker across the table, and he catches Sanchez looking at him. There's a strange smirk on Sanchez's face – an almost amused one. Like he knows exactly what just happened in the conversation between he and Kassel._

_Deeks meets Sanchez's gaze evenly, and for a moment, they both just stare at each other. Unsurprisingly, Sanchez looks away first. And then turns his gaze towards Kensi and Gabrielle. His eyes sweep lecherously over Kensi._

_The bad feeling in Deek's gut grows just a little bit worse._

_Someone is playing someone here. He's not sure whom._

_But if it's Sanchez, and this is all some giant game to the little bastard, well then he and Kensi are screwed. _

_He reaches for his glass of wine, and takes a hearty swig. To the other at the table, it appears that he's indulging in the available liquor. To Kassel, it seems as though he's steeling his nerves after having received a rather vicious threat against his fiancée's life._

_To Paul Sanchez, it seems as though the young Los Angeles Police Department Detective is starting to realize that this case could very easily go upside down._

_Sanchez is right._

_He's very, very right._

_

* * *

_The screaming down the hallway wakes her up. She blinks and tries to gather her senses. After a brief moment, she realizes that there's a fight happening nearby – and it sounds like an especially violent one.

She glances towards the door to her room, noticing that the cop who had been standing there every other time she'd woken up has left his spot. Idly, she wonders if that's a good idea. And then she thinks about how odd it is to have such a dramatic fight nearby.

Before she can think too much about this, however, a man enters the room. He's dressed in jeans, a black hoodie and a baseball hat. The cap is puled down over his eyes, effectively hiding his face from view.

Her first thought is that she remembers seeing him that morning, on the way to the lab to get tests done on her head. When he removes his cap, however, she realizes that she knows this man very well.

"Hello, Kensi," Paul Sanchez grins, stepping towards her.

"You stage the fight?" she asks warily, suddenly understanding what's going on.

"With some help."

"You here to kill me?"

"Yes."

"You think I'm going to just let you?"

"God, I hope not. That would be such a letdown after well…everything." He walks towards her bed. "You really are beautiful."

"Come a little closer, and I'll show you how beautiful," she hisses, one of her hands reaching down and yanking the IV needle out of the top of her crook of her elbow. She bites back a surge of pain as blood leaks down her arm.

He laughs. "Tough girl. What are you going to do with that? Give me a little prick?"

"I'm guessing you already have one of those."

He snarls at her. "You really think you can stop me with that?"

"I know I can." She's amazed at how confident she sounds especially considering she knows how very weak her body is.

"This really is a shame," he sighs. He reaches over to the chair and plucks up an extra pillow. He moves above her, holding it over her face. "But orders are order, Agent Blye." He starts to lower the pillow.

She reacts quickly, thrusting out with the needle and slamming it into of his palms. He staggers backwards, surprised, like he can't quite believe that she was actually able to put up any kind of resistance.

"Bitch," he growls. "You fucking bitch!"

"I warned you," she replies triumphantly.

"Yeah, you did. And now it's my turn." And then suddenly, he's atop her, his weight utterly overwhelming her weakened body. Normally, she'd still have at least a fighting chance to take him out, but now…

She gasps as the pillow is shoved over her face, covering up her mouth and cutting off her oxygen. She screams into the pillow and claws at his hand.

Not like this, she pleads to herself. Please, not like this.

She feels her nails dig into his rough flesh, drawing blood, but still he presses the pillow against her. It's a strange, almost absurd feeling to be suffocated. As the air leaves, lightness overtakes her, and she thinks that maybe she's floating.

Still, she continues fighting.

Fighting. Fighting. Fighting.

Her frantic motions slow, her fingers scrape across the backs of his hands, then slide off and away. One drops down.

This is it.

Oh, God.

And then suddenly, abruptly, quite out of nowhere, there's a terrified shout, a too-loud, too-close gunshot, and a pained scream.

She feels the pillow being lifted away from her face.

"Callen," she gasps out as she sees her savior standing above her. His hands touch the sides of her face. She thinks she hears him telling her that it's all right now, everything's all right. She's safe. She's okay.

She lifts her hand up in front of her face, sees the blood – Sanchez's blood - beneath her nails. She smiles victoriously. She mumbles something incoherently.

Then her eyes roll back and she passes out.

The last thing she hears is Callen screaming for a doctor.

**TBC.**


	7. Chapter 7

**As promised, here we go. We're starting to really ramp up here, and you should be starting to notice signs of what caused everything to go upside down. Please be forewarned, language, violence and very very mild sexual situation are within. Thank you as always for your kind comments.  
**

**

* * *

**

It's almost an hour later when the doctor, who had originally treated Kensi when she'd been rushed in previously, finally emerges from the OR. He steps towards the trio of men, his movements seemingly carefully calculated.

"Gentlemen," the doctor says, and for the first time, Sam Hanna notices that the name Hardy is stenciled in blue on the pocket of the doctor's white lab coat.

"Is she?" Callen starts, his thoughts clear. He'd seen the way Kensi had been laying there, not moving, the heart monitors going crazy. He'd heard the way the doctors had been screaming out horrible sounding medicals terms.

He realizes that this is the second time in less than two days where he's had to ask this doctor whether or not he's lost her.

Callen tries again. "Is she…is she okay?"

Hardy nods his head slowly, "Your agent is tough. She's…well she's nothing short of amazing, really."

"We know that," Renko says softly.

"So?" Sam presses.

"She's holding on."

"What does that mean?" Callen asks. There's a heavy weariness in his voice.

"It means that we've stabilized her again, and I'm again cautiously optimistic that she's going to pull through."

"What aren't you saying?" Sam demands.

Hardy thinks for a moment, as if carefully gauging his words. Then, "Oxygen to her brain was cut off for at least fifteen to twenty seconds, maybe more. Normally, that wouldn't be a massive concern, but after everything she's gone through, and with the head injury she already has…"

"You think there could be brain damage?" Renko interrupts.

"Well, the thing is, we thought there may have been brain damage previously. While we were initially optimistic about the lack of bleeding in her skull, we've been fairly concerned about how severe her memory loss seems to be. While still remembering that the original trauma occurred just over thirty-six hours ago, it's been a bit alarming how much she's been struggling to recall anything – even very remedial things - from moment to moment."

"She might be worse now," Callen translates.

"It's possible," Hardy acknowledges. "But we just won't know until she comes around again, and until we run some further tests. I will say, best case scenario, your friend is going to be spending a few weeks here with us."

"Got it," Sam mumbles, shaking his head. He clenches his hands, his nails digging into his palms. He desperately wants to hit something right about now.

Hardy looks at the three men in front of him, all of them wearing matching expressions of fear, frustration and anger. "Look," he tells them. "I probably shouldn't be saying this, but to hell with it. Your agent, I meant what I said before, she's tough. She's a fighter. To be honest, she has no business being alive after what's happened to her in the last two days, but she is. Who knows what that means overall, but I think right now, I wouldn't bet against her."

"Nor would we," Renko assures him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Good. I promise you, as soon as I know more, I'll let you gentlemen know, but for now, like last night, there's not much you can do here. I understand that the security on her will be greatly enhanced, yes?"

"Yes," a voice says from behind the men. They turn to see LAPD Detective Matt Bernhart quickly striding towards them, anger creasing his normally handsome features. To the NCIS agents he says, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what the hell my guy was thinking leaving his post. I promise you, it won't happen again. I'll be personally be taking over standing guard."

Callen stares back at Bernhart for a moment. He'd love to rail at the impulsive cop, but it would be wasted energy; the detective already feels terrible for what occurred. After a beat, Callen simply nods.

"Good," Dr. Hardy answers. "Then I will leave you four to the organizing of that. We'll talk soon." And with that, he moves away, back towards the OR.

"I want a check-in call every hour," Sam tells Bernhart, turning to face him.

"You got it."

"Who's spelling you in the morning?" Renko asks softly. He's known this cop for a very long time, knows that beneath the thick layer of bravado and crazy recklessness is a young man who has an almost compulsive need to be doing right by people.

In a way, Matt Bernhart a lot like everything Renko's ever heard about this Marty Deeks guy.

Bernhart shrugs. "I hadn't gotten to that part. I'm good to go, though."

It's quite clear that he's taking the responsibility for this all on himself. Whether that has to do with the failure of his men to stay at their posts, the fact that he somewhat partnered with Kensi a year previously on the bank job, or the realization that even though he and Marty Deeks have never worked together, they share a bloodline of blue, the end result is the same.

"I'll be here by 8AM," Renko says. "We can go in shifts."

"When are you going to sleep?" Bernhart asks.

"Come on, Matt, you know me better than that. I'll catch a nap while Callen's filling up his coffee cup for the twelve time," Renko smiles.

Bernhart simply nods, very little humor in the motion. It's enough to make Sam reach out and squeeze him on the shoulder. It's meant to be somewhat reassuring, but Bernhart is in no mood to be reassured.

"What about Sanchez?" Callen asks. "Where's he?"

"Getting his leg wound cleaned up. The doctors in the room said they could release him into LAPD custody within the hour."

"We're going to want him," Renko tells him.

"You'll have him."

* * *

They don't end up getting Sanchez delivered into their custody until a quarter after twelve at night. The only upside of the delay is that Renko manages to sneak about an hour or so of sleep in.

Once one of Bernhart's most trusted guys drops Sanchez off at the Boathouse, the three men realize that at some point or another, Hetty has joined them. Callen considers asking her where the hell she came from, but then figures why bother, she'd just say something cryptic and odd anyway.

"I'll go first," Callen says simply, heading towards the door.

"G," Sam says, stopping Callen in his tracks. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone in there with him."

"I don't think it's a good idea for either of you to be alone with him," Renko comments. His tone is somewhat light, but he's being dead serious.

"Join them," Hetty tells him, and then looks at Callen and Sam to let them know that she's not making a request, and her words are non-negotiable.

Callen nods, and then leads the way into the interrogation room. They see Sanchez hunched over the table, dressed in loose light blue hospital scrubs. One of the legs is noticeably larger, the sure sign of the thick medical tape and dressing beneath the cloth. "How's the leg?" Callen asks.

"Hurts like a mother," Sanchez whines. They can see that he's shaking a bit. The doctors at the hospital had wanted to medicate him, but had been instructed that he was to be delivered completely free of all drugs in his system.

"Good," Sam replies harshly. "Who sent you and where's Deeks?"

Sanchez shrugs.

"Wrong answer," Callen replies, reaching forward, grabbing Sanchez by the hair, and then slamming his face down into the table. There's a terrible crack as his nose breaks, and blood streams away from his face.

"So again," Sam asks, seeming completely oblivious to the pain that Sanchez is in. The truth is that he's not oblivious at all – he sees it, and deep down, he's glad for it. This little weasel deserves at least this much pain. At least. "Who sent you and where's Deeks?"

"Sam, I think we can skip the who sent you question. It was Kassel, right?" Callen presses.

"You know it was," Sanchez replies. "And I'd say the Big Boss won this one, huh?"

"You're awfully brave," Renko comments, stepping towards him. Previously, he'd been leaning against the far wall, just watching. Normally, he's a man of action and not words. He's almost always just fine with letting others do the interrogations, but on this one, well he wants to be involved.

"Who the fuck are you?" Sanchez spits.

"Not important," Renko replies. "My question for you is, why do you care that your boss won? You're going to spend the rest of your life in a Federal prison. And that's if you're very, very lucky. I'd say you lost."

Sanchez swallows.

"Looks like he hears you loud and clear, Renko," Callen comments. It's taking everything in him not to reach across the table and rip Sanchez's throat out. In fact, the only thing stopping him is the knowledge that this man to cooperate is probably their only chance to find Deeks alive.

"I don't know where Deeks is," Sanchez sighs.

"You're lying," Sam snaps.

"No, I'm not. I swear. I mean, I could tell you where he was five hours ago, but the moment all those reporters put that there was a shoot-out at the hospital on the nightly news, my boss moved him, and I got no idea where to. That's the God's honest truth."

"I doubt you'd know honest if it bit you in the ass," Sam snarls, taking a step forward. There's clear menace in the big man's eyes.

Renko surprises even himself by stepping in front of Sam. "Where was Deeks as of five hours ago?"

"What do I get if I tell you?"

"To have a chance to spend the rest of your life in a Federal prison," Callen answers. "If you don't tell us everything you want, I'm thinking maybe you have a mysterious accident and end up washing up on the beach a few days from now."

"You're bluffing."

"We're not," Sam tells him, sidestepping Renko. "After what you did to Kensi, and what we know you've done to Deeks…"

"You don't know the half of it," Sanchez chuckles.

Callen shakes his head in disbelief. "You really are a dumb son of a bitch, aren't you? Do you understand, we're not playing with you? You have one of ours, and one way or another, we are going to get him back." He looks over at Sam and Renko, and then motions to him. "And not one of us in the room gives a damn about what happens to you in the process. You get it?"

"I got it."

"Give me the address," Renko says, kneeling down next to him. It's amazing to him that he's the calm one right now. He's known Kensi just as long as Sam or Callen and for a few minutes way back, had even had something of a thing for her. They'd gone out for drinks one night, and it'd been all he'd needed to realize that she was way out of his league. Even so, she'd stayed a good friend.

Yeah, it would be wrong to say that his desire – almost need – to make Sanchez pay for what he and had his boss had done to Kensi was somehow less significant than that of Sam or Callen.

And yet he finds himself almost being the voice of reason.

It's enough to make him sick.

He pushes a pad of paper towards Sanchez. Then nods towards it. Reluctantly, but now seeming almost terrified, the former soldier writes an address down.

"Go," Hetty says from the doorway, and once again, they all wonder where she came from. "All of you."

"I'm not comfortable leaving you with him," Callen replies.

She tosses him a withering look. Then, "Go."

"Come on, G, she can handle herself."

"No," he says. "Kensi could handle herself, too, and we saw what happened. You and Renko go, I'm staying."

Hetty looks like she's about to argue, but the look Callen throws her is one part stubborn and another part frantic plea. It's enough to make her back down. She nods to Sam and Renko. "Let us know what you find."

"I hope we're calling you from the hospital after we find Deeks," Sam answers, and then is out the door with Renko in tow.

Once the door to the Boathouse closes, Hetty sits down at the table, across from Paul Sanchez, who is staring back at the diminutive woman, looking more than a little nervous and uncertain. "Mr. Sanchez, I want you to tell me everything you know about what happened. How this happened."

"You don't want to know."

"I'll make that determination," she replies coolly.

"You're not going to like what you hear."

"I don't doubt that. Now, I'd like you to pick up after the dinner party where Mr. Kassel threatened Agent Blye's life."

"You know about that?"

"We know quite a bit," Callen says, dropping a journal down onto the table.

"But you don't know everything do you? You don't know what he did to her."

Callen's eyes narrow dangerously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Hetty lifts a hand. "We're not there yet are we, Mr. Sanchez?"

Sanchez stares at her for a long moment, like he can't quite figure this woman out. Whatever her game is, it's beyond him. Slowly, he shakes his head. "No, that happened later. After your boy screwed up."

Before Callen can press on that – and it's quite clear that he wants to – Hetty shakes her head. " No. We stay in order as much as we can. We'll get to that, Mr. Callen. Now, Mr. Sanchez, please start from that night forward."

He shakes his head. "Make me another deal," he says.

"No," Hetty says simply. "Mr. Callen, if you'll come with me, please?"

Callen starts to protest, but then instead turns back to Sanchez. He leans in. "We're not done here."

"No, we're not," Sanchez replies with significantly more bravado than he actually feels. His leg is on fire from being shot, and he's as close to scared stupid as a man can get, but he's not dumb – he knows that right now, these people have a frantic need for knowledge that only he can supply. Which means that for right now, he still has at least a little bit of power and leverage.

He figures that he's going to use up every bit of it.

Callen just about growls at him, and then turns and exits the room with Hetty. Once outside, Callen rounds on her, "What the hell was that?"

"He believes that he has leverage right now."

"He does."

"Maybe, but we can't let him believe that."

"So what's our game plan? These damn journals again?" He holds one up.

"To a point anyway. The entries stop as of three days before Agent Blye's distress code was sent out. I suspect that there's where the problems began. And that's where we'll need Lieutenant Sanchez's help. At least until Ms. Blye wakes up again."

"Until then?"

She points to the journal.

He sighs, and then opens it up.

He'd love to burn this damn thing.

* * *

_It's just after four in the morning the day after the dinner with Kassel when Marty Deeks wakes to feel a gentle pressure against him. Actually, what had woken him up was the simple biological need to empty his bladder, but what he sees stops him from moving even an inch._

_At the beginning of he Op, he and Kensi had laid down rules about sharing the bed. Not exactly verbally, but just the same. A pillow had been placed between them to separate sides and there had been unspoken obvious decision to always be dressed while under or on top of the sheets._

_The clothing thing hadn't been a problem – apparently neither one of them is the sleep naked kind (well not in the Winter anyway). The separation of the bed, however, well judging by the fact that she's damn well nuzzled up and into chest, well that rule has clearly been thrown out the window._

_He's not at all surprised._

_One of the first things that he had realized after the Op had begun was that Kensi Blye wasn't a calm sleeper at all. As such, not a night has passed without some kind of fit, be it slight tossing and turning or on the night when she'd clearly been having bad dreams, much more dramatic thrashing around._

_He doesn't remember either kind of sleep disruption tonight, but then he admits to himself that he'd probably had a bit much to drink over dinner, and they'd both passed out soon after getting back to the apartment._

_Sometime in the night, though, she'd slid right past the pillow between them, and placed herself just about into his arms._

_The devilish part of him wants to wake her and tease her with something like, "Ah hah, I knew you were a cuddler" or maybe even the one phrase that he knows for certain would piss her off which is "I knew you couldn't resist me."_

_Deeks does neither._

_Instead, even feeling the urgent need to pee, he stays perfectly still, doing nothing but watching his partner sleep. She seems at peace, and he's in no hurry to change that. It's only fifteen minutes later when she finally rolls away that he urgently pushes himself up from the bed. _

_When he returns from the bathroom, she's somehow completely back on her side, one leg sticking out from under the blankets, her hair going every which way. He knows that she'd kill him if she knew that he was standing above her watching her, and yet he can't not._

_He finally crawls back into the bed, but sleep never returns to him. An hour and a half later, he gets back up and heads out for his morning surf._

_

* * *

_

_He's standing on the beach, enjoying the feel of his feet in the sand, and the coolness of the morning breeze slapping against his bearded cheeks when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him. His first instinct is to reach for a gun, but then he remembers that he's not carrying._

"_Deeks," Paul Sanchez mumbles as he comes up to stand next to him. The kid is dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, a Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap crammed down over his dark eyes. "There a reason we had to meet so damned early in the morning?"_

"_Not a morning person are you, Paul?"_

"_No. And I left the bed of a beautiful woman." He smirks then. "So did you."_

"_Yeah, about that." Deeks turns to face him. "I want you to stop."_

"_Stop? What are you talking about?"_

_Deeks takes a threatening step towards Sanchez, and then lowers his voice when he speaks. "I see the way you've been looking at her, and I don't like it."_

"_You're seeing things, bro."_

"_Am I? I know about guys you like, Paul. You see women like her, and all you think about is how to own her. Well stop."_

"_Why, she yours?"_

"_Yes."_

_Normally, Marty Deeks would never claim ownership of any woman, especially not his super independent partner, but it seems the appropriate course to take right now. If Sanchez won't respect Kensi because she's a woman, well then maybe he'll respect Deeks because he's a man._

"_Fine, whatever, not my way to cut in on another man's woman. But hey, ain't that kinda weird, partners hooking up?"_

"_No."_

"_All right, I get you loud and clear."_

"_Good. Now smile."_

"_What?"_

"_She's coming this way."_

_Sanchez turns to see Kensi walking down the beach, dressed in a pair of capris and a spaghetti strap shirt. She looks so fresh-faced and innocent like this._

"_Don't think she's appreciate you pissing on her, do you?" Sanchez taunts._

_Deeks responds only with a cold glare. Sanchez immediately shrinks back. Deeks turns away from him, and towards Kensi. "Hey, babe."_

"_Hey!" she replies, as she comes closer. They're all pretty sure that they're safe out here in the middle of the beach at just after six in the morning, but just to be careful, they're trying to stay at least outwardly in character._

_As soon as she's close, Deeks reaches out and slides an arm around her, pulling her to his body. There's just the slightest bit of a hitch in her accepting the embrace; it's clear that she hadn't been expecting it. Still, after just a moment, she leans into him. _

"_What are you doing out here so early? You hate mornings."_

"_I do," she confirms. "But I wanted to see my man surf."_

"_Your man," Deeks murmurs, a smile playing over his lips. A moment later, he feels Kensi's elbow thump into one of his ribs. "Ow."_

_She smiles super sweetly, and then turns her attention to Sanchez. "So, Is Kassel buying it so far?"_

"_Completely. He loves you guys. Especially sweet innocent Jimmy," Sanchez chuckles. It occurs to Deeks that maybe Sanchez has as much active disdain for his boss as he does for the cops. _

"_So when does he try to move Jimmy onto dealing?" Deeks asks._

"_Soon. Real soon. Usually when he finds someone he likes, someone he thinks he can control like he does Jimmy, he moves in fast. He's going to want to get an anchor on you as fast as he can. You know, make sure that you're in too deep to get out even if you want to."_

"_Perfect," Deeks nods, more than slightly aware of the fact that Kensi's arm has slipped around his waist, and now her fingers are absently drumming against his hip. For her part, she seems completely oblivious to what she's doing._

"_If you want, I can push on him a bit to speed up the timeline," Sanchez offers, his eyes sliding across Kensi's body. It's like he can't help himself. _

"_No," Deeks replies. "You don't know Jimmy all that much better than he does. If you're suddenly willing to go head over heels to vouch for him, it's going to come off as suspicious. Let Kassel determine how fast he wants to go."_

"_Okay."_

"_You don't use do you?" Kensi asks suddenly._

"_The Prince Charming?" he asks. She nods. "Nah, not that shit. It's garbage. It'll fuck you up faster than you can imagine. I've seen kids take one hit, and be crazy addicted almost immediately. Some kids don't survive their first hit."_

_She wants to ask him why he'd be involved in pushing such a monstrous chemical concoction, but decides not to. In the short time that she's known Paul Sanchez, she's realized that he's not much of a man at all. He likes to walk around like he's a tough guy because he has military training, and the backing of a major mob boss, but at his root, Sanchez is little more than an angry coward._

_A dangerous angry coward._

"_We're done," Deeks says dismissively. _

_Sanchez clenches his jaw. For a moment, Kensi wonders if the former Marine is considering throwing a punch at her partner; her certainly looks angry enough to. But then, Sanchez simply nods. "Sure. I'll be in touch."_

"_Keep your wits about you," Deeks reminds him._

"_You, too. After all, my friend, I'm not the only one with my eyes on her."_

_And with that, he walks away, back across the sand._

"_What was that?" Kensi asks, arm still wrapped around him._

"_Nothing," he lies._

"_Deeks."_

"_Really, it's nothing."_

"_Don't bullshit me."_

"_I told him to stop looking at you. As I'm sure you noticed, he did it anyway."_

"_You shouldn't have done that." He opens his mouth to protest, but she pushes on, stopping him before he can even start. "I can deal with him leering at me. Trust me, he's not the first guy. In fact, half the time, that's what Callen sends me in for, to have them looking at me like that. I'm used to it."_

"_I know, and I know you can handle it. I can't."_

"_What are you…why not?"_

"_Because I know guys like Sanchez. I've worked with way too many of them. They think they're smooth operators, but they're anything but. They're usually angry little men who like to hurt people. Who like to hurt women. A lot. They get obsessed with them, and then they do horrible things, Kensi. Terrible things."_

_There's a hard sincerity in his voice – something she's completely unused to with him – that makes her stop cold. She stares at him for a moment, and then says softly, "Deeks, look at me. Look at me."_

_He does so, lowering his eyes to meet hers. She's not all that much shorter than he is, but she's still leaning against his chest, which gives him a significant height difference. She reaches up to touch his face, and it occurs to him how much more familiar they've gotten with each other in such a short amount of time._

"_I can more than take care of myself."_

"_I know. It's just –"_

"_No. You can't be worrying about me, okay? This doesn't work if you are. You're the one who said I was ready for this. Have you changed your mind?"_

"_No," he says immediately. "I think I'm the one screwing this up."_

"_You're not screwing this up. We're exactly where we want to be. But I need you to stop, okay? You said you know what kind of guy he is, well so do I. Unfortunately, I've dated guys like him. He's a mean little bastard with delusions of grandeur. As long as we keep him close, he can have his delusions and we can control him. If you push him away, and piss him off, he's more likely to do something stupid."_

_He nods his agreement._

"_Good. Now go surf."_

"_Did you really come out here to watch me?" he asks curiously._

_She laughs. _

"_You did, didn't you? You came out to watch your man."_

_She yawns and the drops down onto the sand. "Go."_

_He shrugs, grins, and then picks up his board and heads towards the water. He looks back at her once, sees that she's now reclined, arms behind her, hands creating a pillow for her head. _

_He thinks about Sanchez, and about what Kensi said about him. She's right; pissing him off and trying to over-control the little bastard is likely to backfire on them, and yet allowing the creepy almost stalkerish way that Sanchez behaves around Kensi to continue doesn't work for him either._

_He wonders for a moment if maybe he should have allowed Sanchez to try to speed up the timeline. After all, as much as he's enjoying spending time with Kensi (and he really, really is), he can't help but feel like there's a clock ticking down somewhere._

_He's not sure what it's ticking down to, but whatever it is, it's not good._

_

* * *

_

_The next two weeks pass in something like a blur of motion and sameness. A simple routine is formed between the two partners that feels almost like a kind of normal. It feels almost like something an actual couple would fall into._

_Considering that her habit of curling close to him has become something of a nightly thing now (he's not sure where the pillow they used to have between them disappeared off to) he makes sure that he's up and out of bed before she has the chance to realize what she's doing. He admits – only to himself – a selfish desire not to interrupt the nocturnal closeness. He's pretty sure that if she knew, she'd be embarrassed and do whatever she could to make it stop._

_So instead, he gets out of bed, surfs, and then returns to the apartment before her eyes open. He makes breakfast and coffee, and then waits for her to join him. They chat idly and tease each other, making sure not to call each other by their real names (he suspects that this is much harder for her than him as she's lost her favorite way of admonishing him – with his own name)._

_Their days are pretty much the same as well. After they share breakfast, they both head off to class. She's there for the first half of each day, and then either goes out with other students from the theatre group (she says that a few of them aren't too bad, but a couple of them with their constant melodrama have made her wish she had her gun nearby) or finds something else to do._

_In any case, she spends several hours of each day alone (mostly in the afternoon to early evening) at the apartment. He can tell that the inactivity is driving her crazy; she wants to be doing something to help him._

_Unfortunately, there simply isn't anything for her to do besides play the role of the girlfriend who wants everything._

_It's a bit weird for her to be pretending to be someone so unbelievably materially obsessed. Yes, Kensi Blye has always been a packrat, but what she gathers and holds onto are items that seldom have value to anyone but her – such as the King Cobra that her father had brought home to her from a street vendor in Iraq._

_Kara Barstow, though, she's a woman who likes expensive things. She's a woman who wants to stand out. And so Kensi spends time at the mall, making sure that it seems as though she's blitzing through the money that Jimmy is bringing home at the end of every night (in reality, that money is being dropped off with the journals, and they are instead using petty cash supplied by Hetty). _

_The goal is to push forward the idea that Jimmy has to get more and more involved in Kassel's business in order to keep Kara. _

_It seems to be working._

_Each day after class, Deeks reports to Sanchez and spends most of each afternoon and evening make deliveries all across Los Angeles. It occurs to Deeks that they'd underestimated just how much of a hold Kassel has on the area – just how many fingers he has sunk into the City of Angel's proverbial pie._

_Most of his drops are pretty much cut and dry. It's not until he's just about two weeks into working for Kassel when things get changed up just a little bit._

_This job takes him over to Brentwood, directly to the oversized house of a once famous producer who made his fortune on spaghetti westerns in the fifties and sixties. He doesn't enter the property, but rather parks just outside of it. _

_While he waits (per the instructions provided) he looks over at the bag of Chinese food that he had been ordered to pick up on his way to the house. Five vials of Prince Charming have been tucked into the various white boxes._

_It's a young man with sandy hair and a wild look in his eyes who comes out to meet him after about ten minutes. Immediately, Deeks can tell that this kid is a hard-core user. And worse, he's one who has gone too long between doses and is now more than a little strung out._

_This transaction isn't like the one in the parking lot of the Taco Bell. This kid simply comes over, pulls out a massive wad of cash and then takes then back the bag of Chinese food from Deeks. There's no conversation involved, and for that, Deeks is somewhat thankful because he can't help but think that if this kid tries to say or do anything, things could get very very weird in a hurry._

_He's just about halfway back to the warehouse when his phone rings. He picks it up, looks at it and sees that it says Sanchez on the LCD. He answers it. "Hello?"_

"_Jimmy, Paul."_

"_What's up, man?"_

"_Change of plans. Boss wants you to drop by his place in Malibu. New job."_

"_Right now?"_

"_Right now. I'm texting you the address."_

"_Okay."_

"_See you there."_

_The call disconnects. A moment later, a text comes across with the address. _

_Showtime, he thinks to himself._

_

* * *

_

_Christopher Kassel's beach house in Malibu is a surfer's wet dream. Massive, modern and devastatingly beautiful. _

"_Jimmy, there you are" Kassel greets as Deeks comes up the steps. Kassel is standing on the edge of his cherry wood deck, looking out at the water. It's almost ten at night so all the illumination available on the surf is what is supplied by the moon._

"_Sorry, there was some traffic," Deeks says. He holds out his hand, the wad of cash from earlier in it._

_Kassel motions to Sanchez, who comes out of the house with a beer in hand. Sanchez takes the cash, and starts counting through it._

"_I thought we should talk about what's next for you."_

"_Sir?"_

"_You've been doing very well in the last few weeks."_

"_Thank you?"_

"_Still hesitant are you?"_

"_No, not hesitant. I just...no, I'm fine."_

"_Good. Tonight was a big test for you."_

"_It was?"_

"_You delivered to a very big client of ours, and you did it well. No problems. You didn't ask questions, and you didn't draw attention to yourself."_

_Deeks simply nods._

"_All of that is very good, Jimmy, but I think you're capable of so much more."_

"_I don't understand, sir."_

"_You remember what we talked about when you first came on?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_The dealing part."_

"_Oh right."_

"_Jimmy, how much money are you making a night?"_

"_Three, four hundred dollars."_

"_Which over a week is a nice chunk of cash. But you could make so much more."_

"_I don't know…"_

"_Think about it, instead of four hundred a night, almost a thousand, maybe more. Think about moving you and your girl into a house instead of a nasty apartment."_

"_We're doing okay."_

"_Are you? Paul." He motions to Sanchez who brings over an envelope. He pulls out pictures and shows them to Deeks._

"_Where did you get these?" Deeks asks softly, holding pictures of his partner, dressed in far too elegant clothes for her to be comfortable in, standing in front of the checkout stand of a jewelry counter._

"_She's spending your money just as fast as you can bring it in."_

"_I'll talk to her."_

"_Why do that? Why not just make her happy."_

_Deeks almost laughs. It's amazing to him just how misogynistic these men are. Maybe it's because he's always worked with strong women or maybe it's because he hated the way his father treated his mother, but whatever it is, he thinks that these two creeps haven't a clue about a real relationship._

_Still, the name of the game is playing along and so he does._

"_I…What if I sell to a cop?"_

"_You'll be smarter than that. Paul here will help you learn to spot them, won't you, Paul?" He turns to look at Sanchez, who is wearing an obvious smirk._

"_Course I will. Jimmy."_

_Kassel doesn't catch the weird emphasis on his cover's name, but Deeks does. He wonders what Sanchez is up to, but decides to dwell on that later._

"_What about Kara? What if she finds out?" he asks Kassel._

"_She will eventually anyway, Jimmy. All of our women do, and you know what? They don't care. They just want to be well kept. Kara does as well."_

"_I don't know…"_

"_Yes, you do."_

"_How would I do it?"_

"_Well, your first run would be riding shotgun with Paul. He'll take you to a house party and show you how it's done. After that, we'll give you your own assignment. Once you're successful there, you can start expanding your own zones."_

"_This stuff is pretty nasty isn't it?"_

"_It's no worse than anything else, Jimmy. Trust me, this won't hurt these kids worse than anything else they're snorting, smoking or shooting. What it will do is ensure that you get plenty of follow-up customers. Better for business."_

"_What do you say?" Sanchez asks. "You joining me tomorrow night?"_

"_Can I think about it?"_

"_Sure. But don't think too long, Jimmy. I really believe that you're going to be one of the best I've ever had. There's something special about you. People, for whatever reason, they instinctively trust you. If you let us, we're going to use that and you're going to make yourself rich, and your wife to be very, very happy."_

_Deeks simply smiles uneasily. _

_For a moment, he's not sure if he's acting or not._

_

* * *

_

_That night, as he lies in bed, listening to the sound of silence, and waiting for Kensi to come out of the bathroom (it occurs to him that she's been in there for awhile, and he heard the shower turn off about ten minutes ago), he wonders why he's feeling the way he is. There's a strange sense of foreboding that he just can't seem to push away. He tries to remind himself that he's been here many times before – these are the big moments, the ones that push cases forward and turn them into convictions._

_And yet…_

_The door to the bathroom suddenly opens and Kensi exits, wearing – much to his surprise - not her usual checkered flannel pajama pants and female wifebeater, but rather a purple silk robe pulled tight around her._

"_Hey, baby," she purrs. _

_He blinks. His eyes sweep over her body, going from top to bottom, taking in her exposed long (and flawless) legs. "Hey," he finally stammers._

_She reaches down, and pulls the rope loose on her robe, causing it to open and reveal black lingerie. It's not overly revealing (he's seen her in a bikini, this shows much less than that), and yet he can't stop his mouth from just about dropping open in surprise. _

"_You like?" she asks, and he can't help but wonder who this woman is and what she did with his tomboyish partner._

"_Yes?"_

_She pulls up straight, looking irritated. "That's all I get? Come on, Jimmy, I'm wearing this for you. I thought you'd like it."_

_He adapts quickly, even if he's not sure why he has to. "I do. I just…I'm…I didn't…you look amazing."_

_He wonders if Kensi realizes that he's not acting when he says that._

_She smiles at his words and then comes over to the bed. In one quick move, she's atop him, straddling him. She then lowers her head down and nuzzles her face against his, her mouth up against his left ear. Then, just as he's beginning to wonder if she accidentally ingested something she shouldn't have, she whispers, "I found a video camera above the mirror. They're watching us."_

_His body tenses up sharply. He thinks about all of their interactions over the last several weeks. They've been careful, but careful enough? He's not sure._

_Before he can charge too far down the panic trail, she whispers again, "It just showed up this afternoon. Hasn't been here before."_

_Her voice is so low that he really has to strain to hear her, but he figures that he's pretty much getting the gist of things. "When?" he just about gasps as she continues nuzzling against him. He's more than vaguely aware of how close her under-clothed body is to his. _

"_When I was checking my makeup earlier." She gently bites his ear and then slides around to nip at his neck, her tongue flickering over the pulse point. Whether she intends to or night, she's grinding into him, and he's having a hell of a time forcing himself to think straight._

"_You're sure?" he stammers. He wonders if she knows how insane she's making him. He wonders if she has a clue how to close to doing something very, very unprofessional (and probably unappreciated and unreciprocated) he is._

"_Yes."_

_He hopes that they're on the same page, and that she understands that he's asking her if she's sure that the camera just appeared. Before he has time to think too much about it, her mouth is on his._

_He figures that the camera angle isn't great so it probably can't tell that the kiss is fairly chaste, no real tongue involved. That doesn't change it all that much for him, though. This is more than the quick pecks she's been giving him all along. This one is meant to sell a romantic moment that's about to become much more._

_He thinks to himself that she's doing a hell of a job. He's buying it completely._

_Still, this is a moment that he needs to break up. Even if doing so is the very last thing he wants to do right about now._

"_Did you get this while you were out shopping today?" he asks once she's moved her mouth back to his neck. One of his hands slide across the back of the lingerie, dipping perilously close to backside._

_She pulls back and away from him. "What? How'd you know I went shopping? Are you following me around again?"_

"_No, I… did you enjoy yourself?"_

"_My God, you were, weren't you?"_

"_Kara…"_

"_Fuck, Jimmy!" she shouts and then pushes off of him, and out of the bed, tying her robe back around her as she does. "When are you going to start trusting me, huh?" Rather stupidly he thinks to himself that she's damn beautiful when she's angry. Then again, he's known this almost since the day he met her._

"_Look, I'm sorry," he insists. "I didn't mean anything. And I wasn't following you. I just assumed that was new and all and we…I'm not sure we can afford it."_

_She paces the room for a moment and then turns back on him. She's being very theatrical, very dramatic in her anger, but then Kara would be. And to a degree, Kensi is actually a little bit that way as well. When Kensi's actually angry, everyone knows it so this isn't all that much of a stretch for her._

"_Really? Then why tell me to go spend whatever I want, huh? You say be happy, Kara. Get what you want, Kara. So I do and then when I do, you pull this stupid passive aggressive bullshit! I'm sick of it, Jimmy!"_

"_Wait, come on, calm down and let's talk about this, okay?"_

"_No. I don't want to talk to you tonight. You know what? I don't want even see you." She comes around to the top of the bed, grabs a pillow and the top blanket, and then throws them at him. "Couch. Now."_

"_Really?"_

"_Really. Get out." _

_He climbs slowly out of bed, thinking that while he's sure that the show has been effective, he's going to want to remember this little play fight at the end of the Op. He's quite certain that somewhere deep (or maybe not so deep) inside of Kensi, she's getting a bit of a kick out of this whole making him sleep on the couch part. _

_Either way, he's pretty sure that this little fight has given him the opening he needs to move the Op along. Kassel may have put the cameras up to keep an even closer eye on his new guy, but like the pros they are, he's pretty sure that he and Kensi just flipped everything around to their advantage._

_He looks back at Kensi one more time, but she's still casting angry eyes. Slowly, he leaves the room. She slams the door behind him._

_He makes his way out to the couch, throws himself down on it, and then closes his eyes. He takes a breath, then exhales. Tomorrow is going to be a big day._

_

* * *

_

_Morning comes quickly – maybe too quickly. He surfs for slightly longer than normal (needing the reliable calm of the water), and then returns to the apartment, slightly surprised to find that Kensi has already left. It's not until he steps into the bedroom, and sees that she's laid his clothes for the day out in front of the mirror when he realizes what she's up to._

_He showers, and then returns to dress. As he does, he acts like he's seeing something strange. He leans in, puts his hand out and touches the lens of the super-small camera. It had been sloppily installed, which makes this all that much easier. He yanks at it, and pulls it out. "What the hell?"_

_He pulls his phone out and dials Sanchez's number. "It's Jimmy," he says immediately so as to let Sanchez know that this is part of the Op. "I need to meet with you and Mr. Kassel immediately."_

_

* * *

He's told to come to the warehouse in Van Nuys. He arrives just over an hour after the brief phone conversation with Sanchez ends. He enters, makes his way back to Kassel's office and then slaps the camera down on the table._

"_What is this?"_

_Kassel picks it up, delicately fingering the wires. "A bad installation," he says, then looks up at Sanchez. "One of your guys?"_

"_He'll be dealt with."_

"_Make sure of it."_

"_What is it?" Deeks says louder, bringing the conversation back around to him. Getting in the face of a psychotic mob boss is pretty much always a bad idea, but it's also pretty what any normal person who had just found a camera in his room would do. z_

"_Easy, Jimmy."_

"_Have you been watching us? Have you been watching us do…stuff?"_

"_I had to be sure that you're with us."_

"_How much more sure do you need to be? You've already got me involved delivering the drugs, you've threatened my fiancée' and now you're watching us in our bedroom?" His tone is a well-practiced mix of fear and anger._

"_That was the only camera, Jimmy, and it's out now."_

"_What stops you – or him – from putting another one in."_

"_My word. I'm convinced you're with us. No more camera needed."_

"_Why do I feel like there is a but?"_

"_There's always a but, Jimmy," Sanchez says, and once again, he's smirking. Deeks wonders if he watched the video feed from the previous night, wonders what he'd thought of he and Kensi's brief little make-out session._

"_What you're doing here, Jimmy, it's important. It's big business. I would be remiss if I wasn't watching what my people are doing. I understand that you don't want your lovemaking – or your fights - with your fiancée to be watched, but I will not apologize for keeping you close."_

"_I…"_

"_From the moment you delivered your first package, you became part of my team. You remember what I told you about teams?"_

"_Nothing is more important."_

"_Very good. Now I accept that you had legitimate concerns about what you found this morning, but I need to warn you, if you ever come at me again like you just did, I will make sure that when they find your body, it will take the authorities months to identify who you were. Do you understand?"_

_Deeks nods slowly. It's strange, but there's something about Kassel that reminds him of another person in his life – namely Hetty. Sure, Hetty is not a lunatic peddling poison to children, but she – just like Kassel (or perhaps he just like she) – has the ability to make even the strongest person quake in their boots._

_To date, Deeks has yet to see Kassel actually carry out a threat, and yet he has no doubt that this man is pure evil and completely capable of every act of violence that he promises. He's to put it bluntly, not someone that most people would ever want to cross._

_Unless you're a cop, of course. Then, well, then it's your job._

"_Now, in light of your argument with your beautiful fiancée over her spending habits, have you thought about the offer that I made last night?_

"_Yes. That's what I was going to call about until I saw the camera."_

"_I hope that didn't change your mind."_

_For a moment, Deeks hesitates. Then, he shakes his head. "No. I'm in."_

"_Excellent. Then as we talked about last night, you'll be accompanying Paul to a house party this evening. Shadow him, take point when you feel like it. You go live with your first solo gig tomorrow."_

"_Should I bring Kara tonight?"_

"_No. Tell her you're working late tonight, but then let her know that you're sorry for the fight last night. Let her know that you'll be taking her away for the weekend. Up the coast to Monterey. You can use my beach house there."_

"_Thank you, sir."_

"_Anything for one of my boys, Jimmy. Like I said, we're a team."_

_

* * *

The party is much like the previous one. The only difference is that this time, he's not walking in with a beautiful woman, but rather a dirtbag drug dealer._

_He thinks that this is one of the harder parts of the job – having to actually bait a line for young unsuspecting kids who are just out looking for a good time. Still, he passively watches as Sanchez effortlessly makes deal after deal, taking cash and handing over small glass vials of heroin._

_At just before ten at night, Sanchez presses him to make the transactions himself. It's simple and easy, and afterwards, he feels horrible._

_As they're leaving the party, he turns to Sanchez and asks, "Was that really the only camera inside the apartment?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Who put it there?"_

"_One of our maintenance guys."_

"_Will another one show up?"_

"_Probably not, but we're still listening so make sure you're putting on a good show from time to time, huh?"_

_Deeks wants to strangle him, but instead stuffs his hands into his pockets. "What now? I get my own assignment."_

"_Yep. You going to be able to do it? You looked like you were green in there."_

"_Don't worry about that. You just do your job, and remember what I said about keeping your eyes and hands away from Agent Blye."_

_Deeks sees the way that Sanchez tenses up. _

"_Whatever," Sanchez grumbles. He pulls the door to the car open. Just before they get in (and thereby within the hearing range of possible bugs in the car), Sanchez turns to Deeks and says, "You keep pushing me, man, you might not like what happens, you know?"_

"_I'm not worried."_

"_You should be, Detective Deeks. I can make your whole world go boom."_

_They stare at each other for a long moment, and not for the first time, Deeks is hit with the realization that they have a lot balancing on a man who at best is simply unstable and who at worse is a murderous lunatic who will certainly betray them at the very first opportunity to._

_He can only hope that the sweetheart deal that Hetty had worked out for Sanchez is enough to keep the former Marine from flipping._

_He's not sure it is._

_In fact, he's pretty damned sure (and becoming more and more sure by the day that it's not._

_

* * *

_

Not surprisingly, by the time Sam and Renko get to the address that Sanchez had provided – a nasty little house on the edge of Van Nuys – everyone has already emptied out. And they've taken Deeks with them.

"Sam, you need to see this," Renko calls out. He's starting to get a little sick of having to bring his teammates to see bloodies crime scenes. And yet here he is again. This one is in the back of the house, in a small windowless room.

Sam enters and inhales sharply. "They had him in here."

"Oh, yeah."

Renko takes a camera out and starts snapping pictures of the walls and ground. There's droplets of blood mixed in with dirt. The smell in the room is hideous.

"Needle here," Sam notes, pointing to the ground.

"Seems their MO," Renko nods. "Shoot them up."

"To what end?" Sam inquires. "I mean we talked about it before, the idea of making him suffer for betrayal, but why keep moving him. Why not torture him to death and be done with it."

"Maybe they're trying to flip him."

Sam is about to protest and say that Deeks would never jump sides, but then he thinks back to his time lying in a wood box in the ground. He remembers thoughts that he's never shared with anyone – not even G – about just what he would be willing to do to make the nightmare end.

Whether he would have gone through with any of those thoughts is another matter altogether, but he distinctly recalls wondering about the point of holding so tightly to his morals. He remembers wondering if it'd really be so bad just to tell his captors a few things. Especially if by telling them those few small details, maybe well then he'd be allowed to return home to his children.

That opportunity never came for him, and he's hideously glad for that, but he wonders if maybe it will come for Deeks. He wonders about what they're doing to the young cop. Does Deeks have the courage and strength to hold out?

"Sam?"

"He's one of ours. Not theirs. We find him."

"I know, Sam, I'm just saying, that's probably their plan."

Sam simply nods.

* * *

He screams.

He'd thought that the pain from before was bad, but this is worse. This sharp hideous agony screeching across every nerve is so much worse.

"Again," he hears Kassel say in the same tone someone uses to order a Big Mac.

He thinks it's some kind of whip that's hitting him. Whatever it is, it's sharp and has hooks on it, or at least something specifically made to tear at the flesh.

He feels tears on his cheeks, and he hates himself for that. But the pain, God the pain, it's so much worse than anything he's ever felt before.

"Now, Detective, we can end this with a simple apology."

"What?" he gasps out.

"I want you to apologize for letting down the team."

Deeks looks up at him, blue eyes watery. "Go to hell."

"Wrong answer. Again."

There's a brief moment, the sound of air parting, and then a harsh stinging slap against his back as the whip collides with his skin.

He tries not, but he can't stop himself from screaming again.

"It's humiliating isn't it? Knowing how weak you are right now? Nothing that you can't stop me from seeing it?"

Deeks looks up at him again. "You're wasting your time."

"I've only had you going on three days now, Detective. This is just the pre-show. We haven't begun yet. I promise, by the time I'm done, you'll either be swearing me your absolute allegiance, or you'll be dead in a gutter somewhere."

"I guess I'll be dead."

Kassel smiles, and it's enough to turn the blood in Deek's veins to ice water. "Not yet, my friend. Not yet." He turns to face his man. "Again."

The whip crashes down again. And again. And again.

Until finally, mercifully, it just suddenly stops.

He feels himself being lowered to the ground, his back flaring white hot as his severely lacerated skin touches the cold floor. He feels the rubber pulled tight around his arm and then the prick of a needle.

He exhales as the drugs overtake him, and the pain fades.

He hears a door close. Then his eyes do, too.

**TBC.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Apologies for the delay - the real world caught up with me for a bit. Please be advised that this chapter included some mild sexual situations as well as some language. Please let me know if you're still enjoying the story. Thanks for all of the kind words.**

* * *

LAPD Detective Matthew Bernhart is an anxious and excitable guy by nature. When he was a young boy, his parents had kept him busy through sports. As a teenager, he'd continued being involved in multiple athletic programs, even earning himself a choice of scholarships to different highly ranked colleges

After much thought, he'd chosen to be a Bruin at UCLA and pitch for their baseball team. And he'd been good – real good. The draft had been knocking and insane monetary amounts had been suggested. To everyone with an interest in his career to be – primarily his parents and his agent – it had seemed that his future was to be full of gold and champagne.

All of that had changed in the time it took for him to say, "I want to be a cop."

Of course, no one had supported him. His agent had tried to remind him of his talent. His parents had tried to remind him of the dangers of a badge.

No one had changed his mind.

He'd been asked why repeatedly – why would he throw everything away for something as senseless and deadly as wearing a gun and badge.

He'd never really been able to explain it to them – he'd just known.

Now, sitting at the bedside of NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye, completely over-caffeinated to ensure that he doesn't fall asleep even though it's been several days since he took more than a quick nap (he's old school – when one of his brothers in blue is hurt, he goes to red alert and stays that way until either the missing man is found or he collapses from exhaustion), Matt Bernhart thinks about what might have been if he'd chosen baseball over law enforcement.

He thinks about standing on the mound in front of thousands of people – more if he'd made it the big leagues. He thinks about the red-hot pressure of staring in at a hitter, and praying that what he's throwing isn't about to get cranked into the outfield bleachers.

That pressure, well it's nothing like this moment.

This moment full of wondering if he's going to have to defend this unconscious woman from another brutal attack.

He slides his hand down to the handgun on hip, his fingers coming to rest on the handle of his Beretta. He's expecting to have to use it. Which means he has to be ready. He has to make up for before.

He has to make up for the mistakes of his men.

Their incompetence had led to this woman being hurt. Their incompetence was on him. No matter what anyone else – even his old buddy Renko – had to say.

"Ow," he hears a small voice whimper. He looks down and sees that Kensi's moving slightly, but her eyes are still closed, almost pinched shut as if to suggest that she's in considerable pain.

"Hey," he says softly.

She forces her eyes open, and he can tell for a moment that she has no idea who he is. Maybe it's the panic in her eyes or the visible tightening of her muscles, but whatever it is, he can tell that she's scared.

Of him.

He's spent a good portion of his career wanting others to be afraid of him.

And by others, he means the bad guys. Though on occasion, he hasn't minded when an idiotic paper-pushing road-blocking jerk-off bureaucrat pissed his pants after a run in with him.

Right now, though, scaring this woman is the very last thing in the world he wants to do. "Hey, it's Detective Matt Bernhart," he says quickly. "We worked together last year, you remember? You clobbered me in the face with your elbow."

She blinks again, and he can tell that she's struggling to adjust to the lights of the room (which aren't terribly bright, but seem to be bothering her just the same). He jumps up, crosses the room in two long strides and turns the lights completely down. Almost immediately, he sees her body relax.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "For the elbow."

He laughs. "If I recall, I hit you across the face. I figure we're even." Then, getting deadly serious, he says, "Look, I'm the one who should probably be apologizing to you. My guy left his spot. I take full responsibility."

She looks at him blankly, and vaguely, he recalls hearing the doctor talk about how severe her memory loss was – and is. Apparently, that includes her most recent attack by Paul Sanchez. "I…I don't…"

"It's not important," he cuts in.

She blinks slowly – almost as if in acknowledgment of his words(though he's not completely sure of that) - and then her eyelids drift close. A moment later, he can tell she's sleeping again. He exhales, and then reaches for his phone.

* * *

"Well," Sam says as he and Renko enter the Boatshed at just after seven in the morning. "I have good news and bad news."

"You didn't find Deeks," Callen puts in.

Sam nods. "They were long gone. It didn't look good."

That hangs in the air for a moment as they all consider the hell that Deeks is likely going through.

"So what's the good news?" Callen asks after a long torturous moment.

"Bernhart just called from the hospital," Renko replies, scratching at his beard. "Kensi woke up for a few moments. He said she doesn't appear to recall what happened to her, and she fell back asleep almost immediately."

"But she woke up," Hetty puts in. "And that's the most important part." Her tone leaves no room for argument. She knows these men well, knows that they'll dwell on the concerning condition of their teammate instead of the fact that she's alive. Alive means she can recover.

"So where are we with Sanchez?" Sam asks, looking over at the LCD, which shows Sanchez inside the interrogation room. He's leaning forward in his chair, head against the table, looking utterly exhausted.

Join the club, Sam thinks.

"He's stonewalling," Callen sighs.

"I can fix that," Sam assures him.

"Look, I'm not saying don't do it, but if you break every bone in his body, I don't think he's going to be much use," Renko tells him.

"So, I'll do it slowly."

"Hold off on that, Mr. Hanna," Hetty says. "We're rapidly coming to the point where we'll need Mr. Sanchez – and Ms. Blye – to answer a few questions for us." She holds up a journal. "There are only two left."

"You really think he'll talk without…encouragement?" Sam asks.

Callen turns and looks at the LCD. "I think so."

"Why?" Renko queries.

"He wants to talk," Callen replies. Then he laughs, almost bitterly. "No, he wants to gloat. Whatever happened in there, whatever he and Kassel did to Kensi and Deeks, the son of a bitch is actually proud of it."

Sam just about clenches his jaw loud enough to make an audible cracking noise.

"We'll give him his chance then," Hetty says softly.

Sam shakes his head in disgust, but stays quiet. He's afraid that if says anything right now, it'll be words – and fury - that he can't take back later.

"Well then," Callen puts in, "Let's get through the last of these damn books so we can get him talking and then get him the hell away from us before one of us does something we _won't_ regret."

"Very well," Hetty says. She glances up at the wall, looks at the time and then says, "Mr. Renko, shouldn't you be spelling Detective Bernhart shortly."

"On my way," he nods. "Keep me looped."

"Will do," Callen replies. "And –"

"You don't even have to say it, she won't be out of my sight for even a minute. Even if that means I have to pee in the room."

For the first time in several days, Sam allows himself a small chuckle. Renko smiles in response, then takes one last look into the Interrogation room, glares at Sanchez, and turns and exits, the door shutting heavily behind him.

"We'll begin shortly," Hetty says, handing the journal over to Callen.

"Why shortly?" Sam asks.

"Because I have a phone call to make, and while I am, I want both of you to get something to eat. It's been at least a day since either of you had more than a quick snack, and I suspect that very soon, we'll all need our full energy at our disposal. Oh and gentlemen, that wasn't a request."

"How long will you be?" Callen queries.

"Fifteen minutes. Please be ready to begin at that time."

* * *

_She's never been so happy for the rain._

_It's Friday morning, and soon, she and Deeks will be driving up the coast to Monterey to spend the weekend at Kassel's beach house. Normally, a weekend of sun would be the preferred option, but she has no doubt that there are massive strings attached to this "generous" offer. Strings and all kinds of creepy video and audio surveillance._

_That's where the rain comes in perfect. It's only a bit drippy in LA, but the weather report claims that it's coming down in sheets in Monterey. That storm will provide them the cover they need to be able to knock out Kassel's eyes and ears under the guise of a massive electrical outage._

_Which means, hopefully, a weekend of rest and sleep._

_This is her first deep cover mission, and three – almost four weeks in – Kensi Blye is somewhere well beyond exhausted. Having to be in character constantly is consuming almost all of her energy and focus. She's at the point where she would just about kill to hear her own name be spoken._

_And yet the beat goes on._

_With each day that passes, Deeks gets in a little deeper. He's been running a few solo ops in pre-established zones (typically party scenes where Prince Charming is well known and well used). Very soon, he'll be asked start bringing in new clients of his own. She knows that he's dreading that part._

_It's one thing – he rationalizes – to sell to kids who are already using. It's awful, and he hates it, but they're going to either buy from him or someone else. It's another thing all together, though, to go out searching for a way to prey on young adults who are just out looking for a good time. _

_Kensi turns towards the window, and looks out at the drops of rain as they splash down against the cement outside. It's a cool day, but in typical LA style, it's still warm enough to wear a light sweater and be perfectly comfortable._

"_Hey," she hears from behind her. A moment later, the strong arms of her shaggy haired partner are around her. It takes her a moment to remember that this is all a show (they're standing right in front of the window, visible to anyone who might pass by the apartment on the way to their own). Even that knowledge doesn't keep her from a small moan when his lips press up lightly against her neck. "Like that do you?" he asks, and there's far too much amusement in his tone._

_She turns around, still in his arms. As she does so, she takes one of his hands in hers, and pushes back his thumb. He might be stronger; but she knows a lot more pain points, and isn't afraid to use them when needed. "Very much so," she says sweetly, offering him a wide almost predatory smile._

"_Uh huh," he replies, his own smile somewhat forced and mingled with pain. He moved away from her, then goes to the side of the couch. "You about ready?"_

"_Sure. Did you let everyone know we'd be out of town?" she asks._

"_Mr. Kassel already knew. I reminded Paul."_

"_Good," she replies, even though they both know that she wasn't talking about either Sanchez or Kassel._

_Earlier in the afternoon, Deeks had made a stop by a doughnut shop in Encino. He'd ordered a few maple bars, eaten them in his car and then tossed the bag towards the dumpster. It'd cleared the back of it by a good two feet, but no one around had noticed or seemed to care. He'd gotten into his car and driven away._

_Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, a young blonde man walking a dog had stopped by for breakfast of his own. When he'd tossed the bag, and it had missed the dumpster, he'd gone around to retrieve it. On his way, he'd dumped his own bag, and picked up the one Deeks had left behind instead. Then he'd walked away, bag under his arm._

_That young man had been Eric, (and the dog had been Monty, who Eric had taken in while Deeks was undercover and unavailable) and he'd been conducting his normal Friday morning pick-up. Inside the bag had been two journals and a note about the beach house in Monterey. A request for assistance had also been there. The request had been simple – kill the electricity once the storm hit, and keep it down all weekend._

_A simple task for a guy like Eric. The second half – the part Deeks hadn't explicitly asked for, but clearly wanted – was for all surveillance gear to be blocked out as well. That part wasn't near as easy, but still, piece of cake._

"_Oh, I can't wait," Deeks says. "A whole weekend of just you and me and me and you and the bed and…"_

"_If you're good," she grins. "Very good."_

"_Oh, I can be good. Very good," he repeats._

_She can't help herself; she snorts derisively, and then moves away from him._

_He almost shoots back with a quick-witted (and utterly tasteless) joke – almost is Deeks to her Kensi, but then stops himself. James and Kara have a totally different relationship – she's the boss, and he's almost ridiculously subservient to her. To the point of becoming a criminal in order to keep her. _

_He follows her to the car, finds her already seated in the passenger seat, which is another difference between Kensi and Kara. Kensi can't stand not being the one behind the wheel – she's more than a bit of a control freak. Kara is controlling, but she also thinks she should be waited on and would prefer a man to drive._

_He thinks about this girl that Kensi is playing. Thinks about how as Marty Deeks, he would probably be willing to go out on a date with Kara Barstow. Maybe even go back to her place for the night. And then he'd lose her number._

_If she didn't lose his first._

_In his experience, girls like Kara didn't tend to have much use for a joker like Deeks (rarely did they ever take the time to look beneath the surface to see the real man). They usually saw him as a fun night out kind of guy, but little more. Certainly not the kind of boy you brought home to mom and dad._

"_Story of my life," he mutters, getting into the driver's seat._

"_What?" Kensi asks. _

"_I'll tell you later," he promises. "Want to listen to some music?"_

"_I'm going to try to sleep," she replies._

_He knows that she's not napping just to try get some rest, but rather because they both know that the car is bugged so they can't actually talk, and neither one of them really has any interest in staying in character for several hours of idle and worthless chit-chat. Just the same, he can't recall the last time she rode shotgun and wasn't completely on-edge about it the whole time._

"_Sure, babe. Get some rest. I'll wake you up when we get there."_

* * *

_Slowly, almost groggily, she comes to her senses several hours later. She looks around, and sees that they're parked outside of a beautiful beach house. One glance out the window of the car shows rain coming down in thick sheets._

"_I slept the whole way?" she asks, somewhat incredulously._

"_I guess you were tired." He's not surprised. The longer this op goes, the more restless her sleep has seemed to become. She's on edge. _

_They both are._

_They both get out of the car and make their way around to the trunk to grab their bags, moving as quickly as they can, but getting drenched nonetheless._

"_I'm sorry," she says as she slams the trunk closed, and he knows that this is Kensi apologizing, not Kara. She's sorry that she made him do the whole long drive without any conversation (idle or otherwise) or companionship._

"_It's fine. I listened to sports radio. For most of the trip anyway. About a hundred miles ago, I started only getting religious stations."_

"_Like the 'praise the Lord' kind?"_

"_More like the 'you are going to hell, son, and there ain't nothing you can do about it so you might as well kick back and enjoy it' kind."_

"_Nice."_

"_I thought so," he replies as he yanks off his jacket, and then puts it over both of their heads to shield them from the onslaught of rain._

_They make their way up to the house. He unlocks the door, and they step inside._

"_God, I am starved," she says as they enter. And then she stops abruptly and looks around, wide-eyed and amazed by what she's seeing._

_The place is massive and super-modern. Gorgeous and elegant. Expensive and in your-face dramatic. _

_The kind of place that Kara Barstow would love._

_The kind of place that Kensi Blye despises._

"_Yeah," Deeks nods. Then, turning to her, "You are soaked. We should get you out of those clothes." He means it at least somewhat innocently._

_She cocks her head, considering him for a moment, and then a smile steals its way across her face, and he wonders what devious thoughts she's having._

_A moment later, as she slams him up against the wall, he has a pretty good idea of what she's up to. "I agree completely, baby. We should get these clothes off."_

_Before he can respond, her mouth is against his neck, her lips pressed up against his pulse point. A moment later, he feels her hand slide under his wet tee shirt, her palm flat against his hard stomach. He wonders if she can hear his heart hammering against his ribcage – he knows he can._

"_Cameras everywhere," she whispers when she moves her mouth away from her neck, and presses it instead against his left ear._

"_Mm hmm," he mumbles. Finally, almost reluctantly, he pulls himself away from her and steps back. "Wow. I thought you said you were hungry." He says this while glancing around – and confirming her words for himself – he can see at least three small webcams tucked away into the bookcases around the room. There's a bigger camera – one that looks vaguely like a Kinect – above the 65" television. He supposes if he wasn't a cop and Kensi wasn't an agent, neither one of them would have noticed all of the surveillance gear around._

"_I am," she smirks._

_He laughs. "And I'm good – I'm so good – with that, but how about we actually eat first, and then we can, uh…" He grins suggestively._

_She sighs. "If we must."_

"_We must." He moves towards the kitchen, passing two more small cameras as he enters the large circular room with two massive refrigerators in it._

_Soon enough, he reminds himself, these cameras will all be turned off._

_And they maybe both he and Kensi can rest for a few hours._

_He has a feeling that they'll both need it._

_His gut is telling him that the next phase of the operation – the part where he branches out and actually starts selling – is going to be where it gets rough. He reminds himself that no matter how much he hates it – no matter how much he violently despises what he has to do - it's a necessary evil._

_And once that necessary evil has allowed them to bring down the bad guys, well then, then he can rationalize it all away._

_Like always._

* * *

_They're sitting on the couch together, curled very close, both quite content after consuming a nice large chicken parmesan dinner that he'd prepared (he's amazed by just how many fixings he was able to locate – the kitchen here is wonderfully stocked) when the lights in the house suddenly turn off. Just as quickly, they snap back on, back off again and then back on._

_Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles._

_He glances down at Kensi to ensure that she saw it as well (he wasn't sure if maybe she'd dosed off). Her dark eyes, locked on his own blue ones, confirm for him that she recognizes the signal from Eric for what it was. _

"_I think we're about to lose power completely," he says softly, one of his hands moving up to gently push hair away from her eyes. He's pretty sure that she had started the evening with her hair up, but somewhere along the way, she'd lost the tie, and now it's flying every which way._

_Which, of course, makes her look almost ridiculously beautiful._

"_Yeah," she agrees, her dark eyes flickering around the house. While Deeks had been cooking dinner, she'd done a walk-through of the house and found several more cameras – a rather creepy amount of them located in the bedroom (more specifically, around the bed). Thankfully, Kassel is far too full of himself to use simple battery operated surveillance._

_Which makes him vulnerable to Eric._

"_Maybe we should head into the back. Curl up and uh…" he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. A small smile pulls up the edges of his lips. "Pick up where we left off before with the whole getting rid of our clothes thing."_

_She wants to ask him if these lines actually work with a normal breathing girl, but instead, she replies, "Mm, why do we have to move? I like you right here." And then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, she leans up and kisses him soundly on the mouth. This isn't a peck or a play kiss, and it's not chaste either. _

_He knows why she's doing it this way; they need to sell the moment and what they're about to do so that when Eric kills the cameras, Kassel isn't likely to be suspicious at all. That probably means that Eric will start by fuzzing up the signal until he knocks it out completely._

_Which means that once again, they need to put on one hell of a show._

_Still, even understanding exactly why Kensi is doing what she's doing, he's a bit thrown by just how aggressively she's kissing him. That isn't like before in the bedroom (or even at the front door) when it had been all about body position. No, this is equal halves acting the part and trying to crawl under his skin._

_It's working. Oh, buddy is it working. _

_But then, two can play this game._

_He slides an arm around her, and then with one quick move, flips her onto her back. She grunts indelicately as she's pressed into the cushions of the couch. _

_He kisses her hard, enjoying the fact that this time, he's the one in control._

_He wonders – dangerously – if she does as well._

_He tries to banish that thought from his mind. _

_This is a job, he reminds himself, just a job._

_There's a massive part of him that would love to give into this moment. He's well aware of the strong mutual attraction between the two of them, and he has no doubt that they would be absolutely compatible in bed (even if he wonders if they'd end up fighting for dominance, an idea that in a very warped way, amuses him to no end), but still, she's his partner._

_Keep it professional, he tells himself._

_That just about goes out the window when she shoves him backwards and then puts a hand on the bottom of his shirt. While he watches in mute amazement, she pushes it upwards, almost to his armpits. But that's not the worst – or maybe best – of it, though. A moment later, he feels her mouth leave his only to press against his abdomen seconds later. _

_He almost says her name as her cool lips crash down against his hot skin._

_It takes everything he has not to._

_When she pulls back, she's smiling triumphantly. Before he can manage to stammer out some kind of ridiculous response to her clearly intentional antagonizing of him, her mouth is back on his, sealing his words away._

_A moment later, just as she's tugging at his shirt again, as if to push it up and over his head, the lights go off again._

_They both pause, waiting for them to come back on. A minute passes in silence, and then another. A flash of lightning brightly illuminates the dark rain soaked sky, but the electricity inside the house stays off._

_Another three minutes passes before their silence is broken by the sound of Kensi's voice, "So you going to get off me or…"_

"_There's an or?"_

"_There's no or." And with that, she gives him a hard push. He falls back, into the sofa – and back into the position he'd been in before she'd "jumped" him ten minutes earlier. He hopes Kassel enjoyed the show._

_No, scratch that. Even as glad as he is that they likely played their parts to perfection, and convinced Kassel that his surveillance really had gone down during a bad storm, he hates the idea of them – especially her – being watched._

"_Hey, you okay?" she asks._

"_Yeah."_

"_What are you thinking about?_

_He considers telling her the truth, but quickly decides against it. She'd be pissed if she knew that he was still worried about her, and the growing obsession that both Sanchez and Kassel seem to have for her._

_At first, it'd been just Sanchez he'd been worried about._

_Slowly, but surely though, he's come to understand what Kensi – or rather Kara's – part in Kassel's whole game is._

_She's more than just the insurance policy on Jimmy._

_She's the one who Kassel invests heavily in – makes sure that she's happy and well-kept by her man – simply because once she's all-in (even unwittingly), there's no way that Jimmy gets out if he's really head over heels for this girl._

_Control the girl, control the boy._

_But in order to make to make sure that he controls the girl; he has to keep a near constant eye on her. He has to know what she's doing almost all of the time, know what she needs and what's upsetting her. _

_It's pretty ingenious in its simplicity._

_And obscenely perverse._

_He hates it – the idea of his more that super capable kick-ass partner being reduced down to nothing more than a creatively manipulated and controlled piece on a chessboard._

"_You going to answer me?" she asks, pulling him out of his quickly darkening thoughts. He forces a smile, and only years of practice make it credible._

"_I was thinking about going for a surf."_

_It's an obvious lie, but for whatever reason, she chooses to play along._

_She turns towards one of the windows and watches the rain slam fiercely against the glass. Another strike of lightning flashes in the night sky._

"_Try not to get fried," she says, and then yawns._

_Ah, so this is how she's going to play it – like she doesn't care._

_Well, okay then._

_He wonders for a moment if she'd really let him go out in this kind of storm, and he considers testing her. _

_After all, she may know him well enough to know he's just playing around, but he knows her well enough how hyper cautious she is. She has no problem with taking risks with her own body, but she's damned protective of everyone else._

_She's bluffing, and they both know it._

_He just doesn't know how to call her on and make her admit it._

_For a moment, they stare at each other, and then she says, "You want me to grab you a towel."_

"_This is for always railing on you about your sense of humor isn't it?"_

_She tries to play innocent, but she does it horribly. After a moment, she shrugs._

"_Fine, I apologize," he continues._

"_You do?" Now she sounds suspicious._

"_No, not really."_

"_That's what I thought."_

"_Don't worry, though, I still like you," Deeks tells her._

"_Yeah, but here's the problem: I don't like you."_

"_Yes, you do."_

"_Mm. I guess. I'm going to sleep."_

"_Am I allowed to join you?"_

_She looks around again. They're in a multi million-dollar beach house, but rather oddly, the place only has one bed in it._

"_I suppose, but the same rules as back at the apartment hold true."_

_He just smiles. He figures that he could tell her that she's the one that always breaks the no touching rule by rolling into his arms at night, but he's not sure how she would respond. "Deal," he says._

* * *

"We have that video," Eric says softly once Hetty closes the journal. There's only one left on the table. He'd joined the group when Hetty had returned from her mysterious call (one which she had, of course, provided no details on).

"What?" Sam asks, the question a bit harder than he had intended it to be. He softens his tone, and follows up with, "What video?"

"Of the show they put on for Kassel. I took over the cameras before I knocked them out so that I could make sure I could tell what video Kassel was seeing." Eric touches a key on his data pad. "See?"

On the LCD in front of them, a picture of Kensi and Deeks comes up on the screen. They seem to almost be cuddling together, her head rested against his chest, her eyes closed. The screen goes dark for a moment, and then comes back a second later, full of static.

Now they see Deeks looking down at Kensi. His hand is in her hair. "Maybe we should head into the back," he says to her. "Curl up and uh, pick up where we left off before with whole getting rid of clothes thing."

"Mm," Kensi responds, her voice far more seductive than any of the team has ever heard before, "Why do we have to move? I like you right here."

And then she leans up and kisses Deeks about passionately as she can. To his credit, Deeks plays it off perfectly, pulling her towards him.

"They make a credible couple," Callen notes. "If I'm Kassel, I'm buying this."

"So what went wrong then?" Sam wonders, eyes still on the screen. He watches as Kensi yanks at Deeks's shirt, as if to pull it off of him.

It's right at that moment that the static increases, eventually turning to snow. A few seconds later, the video feed cuts out completely.

"I didn't restore electricity until Sunday afternoon. The storm was still in effect so we had plenty of weather cover," Eric says. "When I did turn the power back on, this is what Kassel would have seen on his video feed." He clicks another button.

Video comes back on to show Deeks dozing on the couch, a blanket slung over him. He appears to be wearing just boxer shorts.

"Planning on driving back to LA in those, baby?" Kensi asks as she enters the room, wearing jeans and an ultra-fashionable sweater.

Deeks opens his eyes and lazily replies, "Mm, don't want to get up. Come back to bed." He reaches out for her.

"That's a couch," she replies. "Now up, come on. We have things to be doing back in Los Angeles. You have work to do."

"Yeah, work."

She gives him a hard look. "What does that mean?"

He shrugs. "It's just…this work..."

"What about it?"

"Maybe it's not the right fit."

"Are you kidding me? It pays great, Jimmy."

"I know. It's just…"

"You can't spend all day every day surfing, honey. We have a wedding to plan for. And a family. You have responsibilities."

"I know."

"Then?"

"Nothing. You're right." He stands up and crosses over to her and hugs her. It's an odd visual to see barely dressed Deeks with his arms around sophisticated looking Kensi. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I just really enjoyed this weekend and not having to do anything besides just spend time with you."

"I enjoyed it, too, Jimmy." She pulls him tighter. "And I'm sorry if I'm being too overly. If you really hate your job…"

"No, I don't. I just…it's fine. It's fine. Let me get dressed, and we can get going."

She reaches up, and touches his face, her palm flat against his cheek. For a moment, no one in the room is quite sure whether Deeks and Kensi are still acting or if this is the two of them have a sweet moment together. Either way, they're selling the hell out of a connection.

Eric hits another key on his pad, and the LCD goes dark. "After that, they left the beach house. I was able to confirm that the data was transmitted back to another location, presumably Kassel's. I wasn't about to track it, unfortunately."

"So that leaves us with this," Callen says, lifting up the last of the books.

"Let's get through it then," Sam replies. He looks back into the room, towards where Sanchez is slumped against the table. "That way we can get back to dealing with him."

* * *

"_How was your weekend?" Kassel asks as he accepts a cup of tea from Sanchez. It occurs to Deeks that Sanchez may see himself as a vital part of the operation, but Kassel treats him as little more than a well-placed lackey._

"_It was nice. We had a really good time. Thank you for letting us use your place," Deeks replies. He's sitting with Kassel on the deck of the Malibu beach house._

"_It was my pleasure. Now, I expect you know that I was watching, yes?"_

"_I thought you said you wouldn't be doing that anymore," Deeks replies, shifting uncomfortably in his chair._

"_I said I wouldn't be doing it in your apartment. My house is a different matter all together. Look, Jimmy, as we've discussed, you're an asset of mine, now. I will go to any lengths to protect my team and my assets, do you understand?"_

"_Yes, sir. I just…she'd freak out if she knew someone had seen everything we…you know…did this past weekend." He looks down and away, seeming almost shy and embarrassed._

"_For now, there's no reason for her to know."_

"_For now?" Deeks asks, looking up at Kassel, his brow furrowed. As both Jimmy and Deeks, he doesn't like the sound of that one bit._

"_Never mind that. Let's talk about your next operation. I think it's time for you to branch out and start making customers and connections of your own."_

"_You think I'm ready."_

"_I think so, but we'll start simple."_

"_How?"_

"_Throw a party at your apartment complex tomorrow night."_

"_You want me to sell to my neighbors?" he asks incredulously._

"_Yes."_

_Deeks turns slightly to look at Sanchez, and isn't at all surprised to see the man grinning. He wonders if this idea had originated with Sanchez. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if it had._

"_Isn't that really dangerous…and close to home? I mean my next-door neighbor knows my name. If I screw up and try to sell to the wrong guy, he turns me maybe he goes to the cops and I'm done."_

"_Then don't screw up," Sanchez says dryly._

"_Paul," Kassel admonishes. Then, to Deeks, "The first time is rough for everyone, Jimmy. The first time you sell to someone you know is even rougher. We're just going to get everything out of the way at the same time. Trust me, you'll be better for it in the long run."_

"_I don't have the supplies to go at it by myself."_

"_Don't worry about that," Kassel says. "Paul is going to take you out to meet a friend of ours this afternoon. He'll make sure you're well set up."_

"_Okay."_

"_I'll expect a report right after the party."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Good." And with that, Kassel dismisses both he and Sanchez by picking up his newspaper and opening it up. Deeks stands and starts down the stairs of the deck. Before he can get too far, Kassel calls out. "Jimmy."_

"_Sir."_

"_She is beautiful, Jimmy. I could see by watching you two this weekend how much you love her. I hope you're willing to do anything for her."_

"_I am," he replies, more Deeks than Jimmy now._

"_As it should be. I would hate – hate – to make her have to pay for your failures."_

"_I won't fail you."_

"_I didn't think you would." And then he lifts the newspaper back up again._

_Deeks watches for a long moment and then – his fury just barely controlled – makes his way off the deck. Sanchez is waiting for him on the sand._

_They walk a few feet up the beach and then Deeks turns to Sanchez, "What's with all of his threats?"_

"_You mean against your girl?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Control. He figures you won't let her get hurt."_

"_What's he done to the other girls of the guys like Jimmy?"_

_Sanchez shrugs. Deeks takes a step towards him. "Whoa, easy up, buddy. Usually, he just makes a lot of threats. Occasionally, he'll have the girl get roughed up a bit if a guy screws up real bad. But it's nothing serious, you know? Maybe a parking lot mugging where she gets slapped around a bit. No real pain, but it'll freak her out and freak the guy out. Get them both in line."_

_Deeks isn't quite sure why, but he knows that he doesn't believe a word Sanchez is saying. Still, he grits out, "And when Kassel wants to make a more serious point? What's he do then?"_

"_Usually, if it comes to that point, he has both the guy and the girl killed. He makes him watch her die first. It's pretty nasty stuff when it gets to that point, you know? But hey, don't worry about that. Kassel likes you, you'd have to epically fuck up for him to even think about really hurting you or your girl. You're good."_

_Again, Deeks isn't sure he believes Sanchez, but he doesn't know how to force honesty in this case. So instead, he simply nods._

"_Are we going to meet one of the suppliers?"_

"_Yup. But you gotta be cool, man. No acting like a cop, you know? I mean you want to cause problems? Ask too many questions. These guys are nervous as hell. It's their asses on the line moving shit back and forth across the border."_

"_I know how to do my job," Deeks replies. "Just do yours."_

"_You really don't like me, do you?"_

"_No, I really don't, but that's neither here nor there. We both have something we want to get out of this, let's just focus on that."_

"_Sounds good to me."_

* * *

_The meeting with the supplier is somewhat underwhelming, but Deeks gets what he needs out of it. Basically, he learns that the men bringing in Prince Charming are doing so through pre-existing Mexican drug tunnels that are typically utilized to move cocaine. It's not a surprise in the least – he's seen a few of these smuggling operations in action, even walked a couple tunnels._

_After the meeting, he returns to the apartment complex, and then goes across the courtyard to Tony's apartment. He knocks on the door. Tony answers it almost immediately._

"_Jimmy, hey, bro."_

"_Hey, I was hoping you could help me out."_

"_Certainly, what's up?"_

"_Kara and I were thinking it's been a bit quiet around here the last couple weeks."_

"_You've read my mind, my man."_

"_I have?"_

"_You want to throw a party."_

"_I do," Deeks confirms._

"_Got a guest list?"_

"_I was thinking the more the merrier."_

"_Sounds like a plan. I'll make it happen."_

"_You are the man," Deeks tells him, feeling like a jerk. He hates the idea that he's abusing the innocent trust of this young man – it makes him feel sick._

"_Start time?"_

"_Eightish?"_

"_Party."_

"_Cool," Deeks nods. "See ya then?"_

"_You betcha."_

_Tony closes the door. Deeks takes a deep breath, and then heads back to his own place. He enters to find it empty (Kensi is out with students from the theatre group), and is actually glad._

_Right now, with everything going on in his head – his worries about trying to sell to young innocents and his concerns about Kensi's safety – it's better to have a few moments to pull himself together._

_He puts his head into his hands, his fingers weaving into his hair._

_He reminds himself that he's good at his job._

_He reminds himself why he's doing this._

_He tries to justify the inevitable collateral damage._

_He figures bringing down Kassel, Sanchez and the rest of the Prince Charming ring will be enough to help him live with the things he has to do._

_It never gets easier, this he knows. But there's supposed to be a greater purpose, something that makes everything worthwhile._

_He hopes to God that there is that in this case._

* * *

_The party is in full swing by ten at night, and the alcohol is flowing freely. Around eleven or so, as he and Kensi dance in the middle of the courtyard, she appearing to be slightly tipsy(he's not sure if she actually is), he starts smelling marijuana and he knows that his opening has been presented to him._

"_Showtime," he whispers to Kensi._

_She feels him squeeze his hand. Though they haven't had the opportunity to really talk about all of this – and how much he detests what he has to do – she knows. It's why they make a good partnership; she just knows._

_He smiles at her gratefully, and then breaks away. She, for her part, heads over to a group of girls and starts chatting them up. He watches for a moment, a small smile on his lips as he sees his decidedly un-girlish partner carrying on like a hyperactive giggling teenager. _

"_Jimmy," Tony calls out._

"_Hey, buddy, great party."_

"_Yeah, it is."_

"_Do I smell…" Deeks makes a sign like he's smoking something._

"_Yeah. Want some?"_

_Deeks considers this for a moment – this is his chance, and he should take it. But as he looks back at Tony – a kid full of energy and life – he pulls up short. "Nah, I'm good. Shit tends to give me a headache."_

"_Bummer, dude." And with that, Tony turns and walks away._

_For a moment, Deeks considers calling him back, considers telling him about the glass vials in his pocket. And yet when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out._

_He simply can't do it._

_Not to these kids._

_Deeks looks across the courtyard and meets Kensi's eyes. She can immediately tell that something is wrong. She breaks away from the girls and comes over to her. He reaches out for her, and she steps into his arms. "What's wrong?"_

"_I couldn't do it," he says simply._

_His anguish just about breaks her heart. She reaches up, and touches his face. "Hey, it'll be okay."_

"_I screwed up," he says, and it's like he's lost in his own thoughts._

_She suddenly wishes to God that they were anywhere but here. She pulls him tighter, and isn't all surprised when he doesn't protest. "Okay, we're done. I'll contact Eric, and we'll ask for an extraction tonight."_

"_No," he says pulling away. "I can't sell to these kids, but maybe I can still salvage this thing. If I go hat in hand to Kassel…"_

"_He's going to be pissed. He could hurt you," she says, eyes wide with worry._

"_We finish what we start," he tells her. "Are you with me?"_

_Normally, she'd be more pragmatic and that would mean insisting that they walk away from this one – the risk levels are simply too high, and yet his passion and his need to see this through, it keeps her locked in._

_With him._

_He's her partner. Where he goes, she goes._

_She nods her agreement._

* * *

_The conversation with Kassel (conducted on a payphone outside of a grocery store in the middle of Hollywood) goes surprisingly well, which should have been his first clue that the shit had just hit the fan._

_Kassel is remarkably understanding, and tells him that he had expected him to have trouble selling to people he knows – most new guys do. He promises Jimmy another chance soon, and says that for now, until Jimmy is ready to try again, he'll just stick with established routes._

_At the end of the call, when Deeks should feel better about the case – he instead feels like everything is caving in._

_He wonders if he should call Eric, and request immediate extraction as Kensi had suggested. Yes, it would ruin four weeks of progress, and would end up in Sanchez's cover having to be blown as well, but maybe that would all be for the best. Maybe, he thinks, this case is getting too dangerous too quickly._

_What keeps him from making the call the fact that in his entire career, Marty Deeks has never made that call._

_He's seen every case he has every worked through to the end – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse – but always through to the bitter conclusion._

_Kensi is an NCIS agent, she understands danger. She knows how to protect herself, he reasons. She can more than take care of herself – no one is going to hurt her. She won't let it happen._

_And so on the call with Kassel, when Kassel offers him a job two days later in the OC, he jumps at it, looking for a way to make up for what he couldn't do, looking for a way to re-establish his credibility with the big boss._

_In short – with Kensi's support - he decides to see the mission through._

_On the way back to the apartment, he drops the journal off behind the dumpster._

* * *

"That's the last of them," Callen says, closing the book. "Date on the last entry is three days before Kensi's Agent in Distress alert came through."

"They should have asked for extraction. She doesn't know any better, but he does," Sam growls, shaking his head.

"There's no way Deeks could have known this would happen," Hetty inserts. "But what's done is done. We can assign blame once Mr. Deeks is home, and Ms. Blye is out of the hospital if we want to, but for now, we need to assume that they both had their reasons for not making the call."

"And nothing in operational guidelines demanded they make the call," Callen puts in. "It was entirely up to them. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't."

"You're awfully calm about this," Sam notes.

"No, I'm not. I'm just saying, I understand why they would want to see it through. I think I would have wanted to as well."

Sam looks unconvinced, but chooses to push that away for now. "So now what?" he asks. "We're done with the journals, can we talk with Sanchez now?"

"Talk to him," Hetty says. "He's aware that we need what he knows. Don't threaten him. Play to his ego. He's proud of what he's done, work with that."

Sam looks disgusted, but nods.

"Eric," Hetty says, "If you'll put the Interrogation Room back on-screen."

"Sure," Eric replies, voice soft. He has a feeling that he doesn't want to be here for what Sanchez is about to say, and yet he knows he couldn't move if he tried. He's as much a loner as the rest of the team, which means that they're the only family he really has. He needs to know what was done to them so that he knows what he can do to help them.

* * *

"About time," Sanchez sighs as Callen and Sam enter. "You bring some alcohol to kill the pain?"

"No," Sam says gruffly. Callen shoots him a look, and then moves in front of him. It's quite clear that Sam isn't capable of playing around with this guy.

"So Deeks screwed up," Callen says, sitting down across from Sanchez.

Sanchez chuckles. "In more ways than one."

"Let's talk about the not selling one."

"What an idiot, right? He has the perfect opportunity to get in even deeper, and he lets his morals get in the way. That's why cops are always a step behind."

Callen doesn't miss the way Sam's jaw twitches.

"Sounded like Kassel forgave him," Callen notes.

"You kidding me? Kassel forgives nothing. He just pretends to. He plays with everything like a cat with a string, you know?"

"So what'd he do?"

Sanchez shrugs.

Callen leans in. "What did you do?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, you're already in way too deep, you know that. You tried to kill a Federal agent at the hospital in full view of twenty cops. There's no mercy for that."

"So why should I talk? Why should I help you?"

"Because this is your chance _to_ talk. After today, no one is going to care what you did. You can brag all you want, but none of the guys in lock-up will give a damn about how you helped take down a cop and an agent after the first few hours you're there. More to the point, they probably won't believe you. We will."

"He's going to kill me, you know that, right?"

"We can arrange to have you put in isolation, away from general pop. You'll be safe. Eventually, we'll take Kassel down, and you won't have to worry about him," Callen assures him.

Sanchez considers this for a moment, then shrugs. "What the hell, right?"

"Good. So Kassel, he was pissed, yeah?

"Oh, yeah. Like I haven't seen in a long while."

"What'd he do?" Sam asks, steeping forward.

"He decided to teach good old stupid Jimmy a lesson about who's in charge. And he let me come along to watch."

* * *

_It's around two in the afternoon and she's lounged on the couch wearing jeans and one of Deek's oversized flannel shirts (none of Kara's clothes are terribly comfortable for just kicking back and relaxing) when she hears the hard knock on the front door. Barely five seconds later, there's another knock._

_She stands up and opens the door. She blinks when she sees Christopher Kassel and Paul Sanchez standing there._

"_Paul, Mr. Kassel, hi," she says, more than a little uneasy. She's trying to be friendly and cheerful, like she has no idea how scary it is to see these men here._

"_Hello, Kara," Kassel says smoothly._

"_Jimmy's not here. I think he's out…he said he was doing a job for you. In fact, he told me he was going to be out most of the day."_

"_He is," Kassel nods. "I'm here for you."_

"_M...me? Why?"_

"_I was hoping that maybe we could talk about an important business matter that concerns Jimmy. May we come in?"_

_She really doesn't want to let him in, but knows she has no choice. "Sure, of course. Please." _

_She holds the door open, and allows them entrance. As Sanchez passes her, he offers her a look that can only be described as amused and slightly lecherous._

_She closes the door behind her and turns to face Kassel and Sanchez. "What can I do for you?"_

"_That's a very good question, Kara," Kassel says with a thin almost cruel smile. It's enough to send a chill flying up her spine. "But I think perhaps the better question here is, what can you do for Jimmy? Or more to the point, my dear sweet girl, what can you do to convince me not to kill Jimmy?"_

* * *

"Do you remember?" Renko asks her after he's brought her up-to-date on everything the team has thus far learned from the journals and Sanchez.

"You mean do I remember what happened that night?" she responds quietly, her hand rising to her head, and scratching at one of the bandages. "Yes."

"Can you tell me?" It's clear to him that this is something she doesn't want to talk about and won't unless she's absolutely forced to. Unfortunately, they both know that has no choice in the matter – he has to get her to reveal what she knows.

"Mike…" she starts, wishing she had a way to explain how hard it would be to tell him what she had allowed to happen. This man is not only a dear friend, but also a teammate, and she dreads what he might think of her after he hears her story.

"If you can't tell him, maybe then can you tell me."

She looks up to the doorway, and can't help but laugh just a little bit. "I wondered when she'd call you in."

"Soon as she could."

"Hey, Nate," Renko says, standing up and offering the team's resident shrink (and now, thanks to Hetty, perhaps so much more) his chair. "I'll uh, go get some coffee, then." He almost seems relieved. He probably is, Nate figures.

"Renko," Kensi calls out.

"I'll be right outside the door if you need anything, Kens."

"Thanks," she replies. "Thank you."

"For you? Anything," he replies, and then steps out into the hallway.

"You know," she says, turning her attention to Nate. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"I know, but I understand your work, Kensi. I understand that sometimes you guys have to do things you don't want in order to catch the bad guys. I get that. And you know me. You know I won't judge you."

"You don't need to," she replies, leaving unsaid the obvious end of the sentence, which is, "I'll judge myself for both of us."

He reaches out and takes her hand. "Tell me what happened."

For a moment, she says nothing.

"Kensi?"

She smiles, but it's a pained awkward one. He thinks maybe he sees tears in her eyes. And then she says, her voice barely audible, "I did what I had to do."

**TBC...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Well since I was a week behind last time, I decided to be a week ahead this round. This is definitely the exception, and not the rule.  
**

**Please note that this chapter deals with a very difficult and uncomfortable sexual situation. I've been alluding to it all along so it shouldn't come as a surprise, but I do want to forewarn you that it will likely be an uneasy read. It's not graphic, but the emotions(if I did my job) should still very much be there. **

**As always, thanks for the kind words. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

A glance up at the circular clock high on the wall of the overly sterile private hospital room shows that over fifteen minutes have passed since Nate Getz had first entered her room.

Ten minutes earlier, he'd gotten up and closed the door to provide them more privacy. Renko is standing just outside; hand on his gun, making sure no one gets to her. And that's great, but the problem with him being here is that Kensi clearly, desperately, doesn't want him to hear her story. She knows he'll hear it from the others eventually, but the idea of this man who thinks of her as tough and strong hearing it from her…it's far more than she can cope with right now.

Her simple request to close the door had been enough for Nate to realize just how awful her tale would really be. And yet she hasn't said a word since then.

So almost absurdly patient as always, Nate simply waits for her to talk. He's done this many times before – she's never been someone who opens up easily – but this is so much harder than any of their previous conversations. Mostly because this is clearly so much worse for her.

"Kensi," Nate says softly, reaching out and taking one of her hands (the one he takes shows visible signs of damage to the knuckles). It's a sign of how much she trusts him that she doesn't pull away, and he's oddly touched by it. "I'm here," he tells her, his voice almost achingly sincere. It's just about too much for her, and she feels the hand that's not in his clench into a hard fist, her nails digging harshly into her palm.

"I know," she replies shakily, shifting her eyes away from his. "I just…"

"You said you did what you had to do. What does that mean, Kensi?"

She knows what he's doing – making sure to use her name. It's his way of not only creating a connection, but trying to ground her. God how she hates when he psycho-manipulates her or whatever the hell he's doing.

"You going to do this with Deeks, too?" she asks suddenly, abruptly redirecting the conversation. Her lip quirks just slightly in almost perverse amusement as she sees him blink in surprise.

"Uh…"

"No, you're not, are you?" she replies, the humor rapidly falling away. "Because we don't know where he is, do we?"

"No, we don't."

"So, why are you wasting time with _this_ instead of being out there looking for him? He thinks maybe he hears a hint of panic and hysteria in her voice.

"We are looking for him, Kensi."

Nate thinks about what Hetty had told him on the phone when she'd called him at the hotel he'd been staying at in San Diego (just days away from another trip back to the Middle East, he's really starting to get sick of that place). She'd said that the guys had located the place where Deeks had been kept captive for the last few days and that the scene had been terrible. He'd asked if anyone could survive what they'd found. Hetty had replied confidently that Deeks could, but that time was surely slipping away from him.

"What aren't you telling me?" she demands. "Have we already found him? Is he dead?" He hears the dullness in her voice. After the last few days that she's had, she just about numb.

"We don't believe so," he replies honestly though succinctly.

"Nate…

"Kensi, I understand that you're afraid…"

"I'm…" she stops short. She'd been about to protest and say that she's not afraid, but she suddenly can't make the words work.

Because she _is_ afraid.

She's fucking terrified.

In the last five days, her world has been turned upside down. Less than a week earlier, she'd been playing a game of house with her partner, albeit a dangerous one that had even then felt like it was slipping out of their control bit by bit. Now, she's in a hospital bed, frantically trying to hold onto memories as they float by, and only completely aware of one fact – that Deeks is missing.

And probably dead.

That guts her. It absolutely guts her.

She feels Nate squeeze her hand, trying to pull her back into the now. The problem is, she's not sure that she wants to be in the now.

"I know you don't want to," he says, his voice so amazingly calm and controlled. "But we do need to talk about this."

"Why?"

"Because we need to know how this happened. That might help us figure out where Kassel has Deeks, and how to stop him. Kensi, it's profiling 101 – learn everything we can about how and why something occurred. You know this."

She nods slowly, but he can tell that she's still bothered.

"What is it?" he prompts.

"It's not all in here, Nate," she says, pointing a finger at her head. "I don't remember how this happened to me." She indicates towards her body suggesting that she doesn't recall how she had gotten injured. He'd expected as much; the doctors had been clear about how concerned they were about her head injuries.

"Then let's start slow. Tell me about the night Kassel and Sanchez came to the apartment. Tell me what happened then."

She meets his eyes, and he knows that whatever else she doesn't remember, she remembers that night perfectly. "Nate," she says again, her voice a plea.

"I'm here. I'm with you. We have Sanchez, and no one – not Sam, not Callen, not Renko, not _me_ – none of us are going to let Kassel near you ever again, okay?"

She swallows, a flush of anger overtaking her.

This isn't her. She isn't afraid of anyone. She doesn't need anyone to protect her.

And yet…

Nate squeezes her hand one more time, and then says, his voice as gentle as possible, "You can do this. Tell me what happened after you let them in?"

Reluctantly, just the slightest sheen of tears in her dark eyes, she begins to speak. The whole time she does, she never lets go of his hand.

* * *

_She closes the door behind her, and then turns to face Kassel and Sanchez. "What can I do for you?"_

"_That's a very good question, Kara," Kassel says with a thin almost cruel smile. It's enough to send a chill flying up her spine. "But I think perhaps the better question here is, what can you do for Jimmy? Or more to the point, my dear sweet girl, what can you do to convince me not to kill Jimmy?"_

"_I…I don't understand. What are you talking about? Why would you kill -" Kensi replies, a strong sense of dread overcoming her. "Is this…this is a joke, right? Jimmy put you up to trying to freak me out, right? Paul?" _

_She forces a smile, tries to play off that Kara just doesn't understand what's going on here even if Kensi gets it perfectly. _

_She might be new to the deep cover world, but she understands a little bit about creeps like Christopher Kassel; they think they own everything and everyone. They believe that no rules apply to them, be they societal or social. And the way he's looking at her now, well it sends a chill up her spine._

"_No joke, Kara," Sanchez says simply. He's looking at her the same way Kassel is. "Mr. Kassel just wants to have a…word…with you."_

"_A word," she repeats, and then returns her attention to Kassel. "What do you want from me?"_

"_You are beautiful," Kassel says instead of answering her question, his eyes sweeping unabashedly over her. "Does Jimmy tell you that when you're in bed together. He really should."_

_It's easy to play Kara's fear now because Kensi is feeling more than a little bit of it herself. "I think maybe you should leave," she tells him, knowing damn well that it isn't going to be near this easy to get rid of these two horrible men.  
_

_She thinks about her gun sitting in her locker back at the Mission._

_She thinks about Hetty's knife, which is in her purse. Which is in the bedroom._

"_Oh, no, no, Kara. We're not leaving," Kassel replies. "Not before you and I come to…I think an agreement is a better way to say it really."_

"_Please. I really want you to leave." She hates the pleading sound she hears in her voice. This isn't her. She can __make__ these men leave._

_And completely destroy her cover while doing it._

"_As I said, not before you and I work something out between us." He's smiling at her, and it just might be the creepiest expression she's ever seen._

"_What do we have to work out?"_

"_Jimmy."_

"_What about Jimmy? Is he all right?"_

"_He's fine. For now. But here's the thing, he failed me. And that my dear, sweet, silly girl, is unacceptable."_

_In her entire life, Kensi Blye cannot recall a single time where she has ever been called silly. It annoys her more than she cares to admit, but with the way both he and Sanchez are looking at her, she has little time to dwell on it._

"_I'm sorry?" she asks, trying to sound confused even though she knows exactly what he's talking about. Immediately, she's wondering if letting Deeks talk her into not asking for an extraction is about to bite them both in the ass._

"_Oh, no, you shouldn't be sorry. His mistakes are…his mistakes."_

"_Then what do you want from me?" she asks again._

"_I want your help, my dear. To help him understand that the team is more important than anything. More important than him. More important than you."_

"_You're scaring me," she says, and she's only half pretending. This man __is__ scaring her (she'd like to think that she doesn't have the fear gene in her, but she knows better. She has it, she's just much better at glossing over it with adrenaline and sheer force of will), but he's also pissing her off. _

"_Good. You should be scared of me. I'm not a very nice man, Ms. Barstow. How much has Jimmy told you about his work?"_

"_Not much. He says he delivers packages for you."_

"_He does. Of heroin." He says it so simply and matter-of-factly._

_If this wasn't such a horrifying moment, she'd almost be tempted to take a moment to laud her considerable acting skills as she manages to show exactly the amount of shock and surprise that Kassel had apparently been expecting._

"_You're mistaken," she insists, allowing for a soft tremble of uncertainty. "Jimmy wouldn't…"_

"_I'm not. And he would. I should know; I'm the one who sends him on each one of his…deliveries. Well, the one who orders him to be sent in any case."_

_She turns towards Sanchez, and tries to ignore the amused smirk he's wearing. He's getting a right kick out of this. "Paul?" she just about pleads. _

_It seems almost perverse to her that she still has to act her heart out while dealing with these men whose intentions are far from gentlemanly. She tries not to let her mind jump too far ahead, but she can't quite stop it. She hopes she's wrong and these two monsters don't have rape on the mind, but she's pretty sure she's not, and that they do. Her mind is already whirling, trying to figure out her best course of action. _

_Fight back, her instincts are telling her._

_She's not sure she's going to be able to listen to them, and that scares her more than anything these men could ever do to her. She's lived her whole life off of listening to her instincts. If she has to abandon them now, she's not sure who or what she is or more to the point, she's not sure how to survive. _

"_It's true, Kara," Sanchez says smoothly, interrupting her quickly running away thoughts. Well that's something, she thinks, at least she and Deeks' covers are still truly intact. "Your boy has been delivering heroin to clients all over the Los Angeles area for the last several weeks."_

_Pulling herself back together, and getting back to the character, Kensi puts her hands over her mouth to affect shock and surprise. Softly she says, "He's not…"_

"_I know you're a simple child," Kassel says in a bemused tone, "But do you really think a normal delivery job pays as well as he's been getting paid. Think, girl."_

"_Oh my God," she says, looking up at him.  
_

"_Do you recall the party that you and he threw a few nights ago?"_

"_Yes."_

"_He was supposed to generate new clients that night. He failed to do so. He said he couldn't' bear to sell to people he knows. Pathetic isn't it?"_

"_He's not cut out for this," she says. "He's not this kind of man."_

_Kassel laughs. "Actually, my dear, he's __quite__ good at this. And I think that he has a brilliantly promising career ahead of him. But, in light of what happened at the party, I need your help to make that a reality."_

"_I won't help you turn him into a drug dealer," she replies, outraged._

"_Oh, my dear, he's already that. You and I are just going to help him reach his potential. And in the process, you will get everything you've ever wanted."  
_

"_What kind of woman do you think I am?"  
_

"_An uncomplicated one," he tells her. "And believe me, that's a compliment."_

_She almost laughs. Uncomplicated is right up there with silly as words that would never describe her.  
_

"_I won't help you," she says. "But I am going to get him away from you. Far away."_

_Before she can even think to react (and to a degree, thankfully so because she knows that she would have responded in kind) his hands is up, and he's slapping her hard across the face. Hard enough to cause her head to jerk to the side. She places a palm over her now burning cheek, eyes wide._

_He probably sees fear and shock. She'd describe the emotion more as just barely controlled fury.._

_Oh, how she really wants to beat the shit out of this guy._

"_Please don't misunderstand me," he says, voice cold as ice. "I wasn't asking. Jimmy let me down. No one lets me down and lives. That's just the way it is. The only reason that we are having this conversation at all is because I believe that Jimmy has enormous potential, and I am willing to give him a second chance. But seconds chances, my dear sweet stupid girl, do not come without a price. Do I make myself clear?"_

"_No."_

"_Then let me. At this moment, Jimmy is working a job with one of my other employees. In two hours, if Alejandro doesn't receive a call from me or from Paul, he will put a gun to Jimmy's head, and blow his fucking brains out."_

"_No!" _

_He smiles, and for the first time, she realizes just how horribly cruel this man really is. He doesn't sell the Prince Charming just for the obscene profit (though, that's certainly part of it), he actually gets a sick thrill out of destroying lives._

_Innocent lives._

_And right now, he sees her as one._

_She thinks that she could probably correct him; she hasn't been innocent for a very long time. But if she did correct him (ideally in the most violent and forcible way possible), she'd never be able to save Deeks._

_She knows that her partner has been doing these deliveries for Kassel pretty much unarmed. And even if he hasn't been – even if he had somehow found a way to sneak in a small caliber pistol unbeknownst to Sanchez or Kassel – he still has no idea that his life is in imminent mortal danger. He has no idea what Kassel has ordered his man Alejandro to do if the "call" doesn't come in._

_Knowing Deeks, he's completely focused on repairing the damage to this mission that he believes he caused by his unwillingness to sell to the kids at the complex. Focused so hard, in fact, that he's probably missed the way Alejandro is watching him. Watching and waiting for orders from the boss._

"_Be calm, my dear," Kassel says. "You can help him."_

"_How?"_

"_By proving your commitment to the cause."_

_He steps behind her then, and she freezes. A moment later, she feels his hand on her shoulder, and then he lowers his mouth and presses it against her neck._

_She'd expected an attempted assault of some kind. She hadn't expected this._

_This is, somehow, so much worse._

"_We all must make sacrifices," he says._

_She inhales sharply. "No. Please, stop…"_

"_Do you love Jimmy?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then this will just be…a sacrifice for him."_

"_Please, I don't…please…"_

_It kills her to be begging this man. She'd much prefer to be putting a bullet between his eyes._

_But she's not Kensi Blye here, she's Kara Barstow._

_And she's utterly stuck._

_Refuse him or fight back, and she'd better hope that either Kassel is bluffing (which she knows he's not) or that she can find a way get to Deeks before the deadline passes. Before Deeks is the one taking a bullet between the eyes._

_She's down to one play then, and it's an unimaginable one._

_She thinks back to Callen telling her that she has to be willing to do anything – whatever it takes – to make the mission a success._

"_I know you don't want to do this," he says, allowing his hand to slide down the hip so as to make his intentions very clear, "And that's why it means so much that you do it. Still, it's your choice completely, Kara. I won't force you."_

"_You won't?"_

"_No, but be aware that if you decline my…offer…then I will be forced to decline to make that phone call. I like Jimmy, but the very nature of teamwork is that we all must work together. And when one of us fails to do their jobs, the others must pick up the slack. That's what I'm asking you to do right now."_

_She's not sure what disgusts her more; the way he's boiling down what he's doing to her to a simple business transaction or the fact that his hand has moved up from her hip to the hem of Deek's oversized flannel shirt, his fingers slowly unbuttoning it from the bottom-up. _

"_I don't want to do this," she says again, and she feels her vision blur. She's not sure if it's fear or rage causing the moisture, but either way, she orders herself to stop. He may be expecting Kara Barstow to cry while this is happening, but Kensi Blye isn't about to give him the pleasure, op or no op._

_Seems to her that he'll be getting enough pleasure out of her…sacrifice._

"_I know. But you're going to, Kara," he says. "We both know that you're going to. Because you really do love Jimmy."_

_She closes her eyes. He's wrong, of course. This isn't about love. In a weird way that only a person who really knows her could understand, this is about something much, much deeper than just simple love. It's about family. No, Deeks isn't anything like a brother or a relative to her. There's far too much chemistry and sexual attraction between them for that. But he is her partner, her friend, her family and for him, there's almost nothing she wouldn't do to protect him._

_Even this. Oh God, even this._

_She hears a low cough that didn't come from Kassel. She opens her eyes again, and turns her head slightly to the side, noticing Sanchez watching everything, that same perverse smirk on his face. She's pretty sure that he'd cleared his throat on purpose, just to make sure that she's aware of his presence. _

"_Does he have to be here?" she asks._

* * *

"Sam's going to kill him," Eric says. Then he laughs bitterly. "I might kill him myself. If I…killed people, you know." He trails off, and looks down at the table in front of him. He doesn't like these emotions inside of him. They're not ones that he knows how to deal with.

After Dom had died, he'd lost himself in his games and computers and anything that could be a distraction. While his friends had been sifting through the ugly emotions of loss, he'd found ways to stay upbeat and positive. This case – what's happened to Deeks and Kensi – is severely testing his ability to do that. Right now, his mood anything but upbeat and positive.

Hetty places a hand lightly on his shoulder, but continues staring at the LCD in front of her. She's been doing this job a very long time, and the story she's hearing isn't, unfortunately, new to her – undercover agents are often forced to do things that they would never choose to do under normal circumstances.

Still, this is different simply because this isn't just some random undercover agent – these are _her_ agents. Kensi and Deeks. And that man inside the Interrogation Room with Callen and Sam, well he'd them both very badly.

"He will get his," she promises Eric.

He looks up at her, sees the deadly seriousness in her eyes, and nods. He doesn't even want to know the why and hows of whatever kind of justice Sanchez will eventually get, he's just glad that he'll get it.

And he feels a little bit sick of how glad he is.

* * *

Callen circles the table slowly, trying to control the fury pulsating through his blood. This is his team and protecting them is his job. He's come close to losing every member at one point or another, but that's part of the gig – life and death situations. But this, this is beyond that.

This is the evil that men can do. And really, for no other reason than because they can do it and they can get away with it.

He understands trafficking. He even understands murder and greed. What he doesn't understand is the need to cause someone pain just because.

"Why were you even there?" Callen asks, glancing quickly over at his partner, who is standing straight as a board on the opposite side of the room, glowering.

"I wanted to see what he did to her," Sanchez answers.

"Were you expecting Kassel to…" he can't even get the words out.

"Let me share? Man, you got a sick mind, bro." Then Sanchez shrugs his shoulders, not bothering to deny that the thought had, in fact, gone through his mind. "Nah, Mr. Kassel never shares when he does this."

"He's done this before?" Sam asks, surprise in his tone.

"If he has a thing for the girl, yup," Sanchez says with a cocky grin.

"So you knew that Kassel would do this?" Callen asks.

Sanchez simply smiles.

"And you didn't warn Deeks?"

"Didn't want to," Sanchez answers, his smile growing.

The only thing that saves his life is Callen stepping in front of Sam.

"Smile away," Callen tells him. "My partner wants to kill you. I want to kill you."

"You need me."

"Only for a little bit longer," Sam tells him.

He and Sanchez stare at each for a moment. Finally, Sanchez looks away, and turns his attention back to Callen.

"You ready to continue?" Callen asks. "Or do you want to keep being a little smartass?"

"No, I'm good."

"Great. You still haven't answered the question. Why were _you_ there? Why did Kassel bring you along?" Callen demands.

"Why else? To humiliate her."

* * *

_She's staring at Sanchez, and he's staring back at her, a smile on his lips.  
_

"_Shh, don't pay any attention to him," Kassel says, touching her face and turning her back towards him. He forces her to look directly at him. "You really do have such interesting eyes, Kara."_

"_Does he have to be here?" she asks again, ignoring his comment about her eyes. She has no interest in talking about any of her features with him._

"_Yes," Kassel says simply. "I want him here."_

_And suddenly, she gets it. This isn't just about Jimmy. This isn't just about teaching his man a lesson. This is also about ownership and possession and pain and humiliation. _

_In Kassel's mind, he owns Jimmy. Which means he owns Kara._

_Jimmy failed him and that means that Kara has to pay the price. And that price is her body and her pride._

_Which is all fine and dandy (all right, a horrible kind of fine and dandy) except for the fact that there is no Kara Barstow. _

_Kensi glances once more over at Sanchez, and then turns her eyes away from him (though she can still feel him watching her, his lecherous gaze traveling up and down her body as Kassel slowly and methodically exposes her – both figuratively and literally). _

"_Shh," Kassel says, his hands sliding beneath the now open folds of her shirt. She feels his palms – soft and overly moisturized – touch her skin, and she lets out a soft and completely involuntary whimper of protest._

_She hates herself for it._

_She orders herself not to react – not to give him any more satisfaction than she absolutely must. She won't let him see her cry. She won't. She won't._

_He doesn't seem to care._

_He slips her shirt off of her (she has a sudden manic impulse to grab at the shirt, but manages to stop herself), and then places a hand over one of her breasts, gently squeezing it. "You truly are exquisite," he tells her, inclining his head to kiss her neck, taking just a moment to scrape his teeth over her skin._

_She has a moment of panic then, a moment where she knows that she can't do this – she can't allow this man to do this to her._

_This isn't her. She doesn't just lie down and let this kind of thing happen._

_But Deeks. Oh, Deeks._

_She knows that he would do anything to protect her. Anything._

_She closes her eyes again, the fight seeping out of her body._

_She feels his hands on the clasp of her bra, and then on the buckle of her belt. She bites down hard on her lip, cutting it slightly. He doesn't even let her have that, though. When he notices what she's doing, he presses his mouth to hers, and forces her to let him kiss her. And then he makes her meet his eyes again. _

_He tells her that this isn't rape. He reminds her that she's allowing him to do this. He insists that she's an active participant. Completely culpable and willing.  
_

_In the end, the best that she can say about what he makes her do is that it's not unbearably painful though it is quite – and she guesses intentionally so – uncomfortable to say the least. _

_Kassel seems determined to mark her, whether with his teeth or his hands. He holds her down several times, pressing his fingers into her skin, leaving behind either small gashes or round bruises that darken almost immediately. _

_That's not the worst of it, though. No, the absolute worst is that he makes sure that he touches __every__ part of her. It's an ownership thing again, and he wants her to know that he's the one completely in control. He wants her to know that he's utterly possessed her inside and out and that she had allowed it to happen._

_The whole time it's happening, she's completely aware of the fact that Sanchez is watching, his eyes never leaving her body. It's creepy and horrifying, and yes, just as she's certain it's been planned to be, utterly humiliating._

_When it's finally, mercifully over, and Kassel is standing above her, calmly buckling his belt, he looks down at her and smiles almost lazily at her. _

_She's on the couch, legs tight up against her chest, holding a blanket over her, trying to cover herself up. It seems a silly thing to do after all that's happened, but she has no desire to let this man gawk at her openly. _

_He's done enough. He's seen enough. He's touched enough._

"_Paul," Kassel says, "Once we've left the apartment, I'd like you to call Alejandro and let him know that Jimmy's debt has been paid for him."_

"_Sure, Boss," Sanchez says, his eyes still on Kensi._

"_I'm impressed," Kassel tells her. "I figured you'd be a blubbering mess. But aside from a few tears, you didn't cry at all."_

_She says nothing. She's afraid that if she speaks at all, the real her will come out. Right now, she's holding onto her self-control by the slimmest of threads, and it just wouldn't take much for her to explode._

_Explode and destroy the mission, and likely get Deeks killed in the process._

"_I do have one favor to ask."_

_Her eyes widen. "Favor?" she asks, incredulous, her voice barely a whisper._

"_I want you to tell Jimmy about this."_

"_No…"_

"_Yes, my dear. He needs to know what the price for failure is. He needs to understand that no action happens in a vacuum. Everything has a consequence. He let the team down, and you had to pay the price for that. He's very lucky he has you. Make sure he understands that, Kara."_

"_Please, don't do this."_

_It occurs to her that she's the one actually begging him now, not Kara. The very last thing she wants Deeks to ever know about is what had happened to her – what she had allowed to happen to save him._

_She knows how he will react._

_She knows what it will do to him._

"_I insist you tell him." His tone is clear; this isn't up for debate._

_She knows that she's once again, completely and utterly stuck. _

_They may have removed all of the video surveillance around the apartment, but they're quite certain that there are still several audio bugs that they haven't found. Audio bugs that they can't remove even if they could find them because it would out them as being cops. _

_Which means that Kassel plans to listen to her tell Deeks what had happened to her. It's enough to make her stomach roll violently. _

"_Excellent." He finishes buttoning up his shirt, and then leans over and presses a kiss against her cheek, his smooth recently shaven skin pressing against hers. She shudders at the contact, but doesn't stop him. "I'll be seeing you, Kara."_

_He takes a step for the door, Sanchez right next to him. Then, abruptly, he stops and turns back. "Oh, there's one more thing," he says._

"_What?" she asks warily. She's pretty much done with this now, wondering what other horrific bombshells he has left to drop on her._

"_I understand that today has been a very trying day for you, and I'm sure that you are wondering if what you feel for Jimmy is worth…all of this. I must warn you though; I consider you part of the team now as well. If you try to leave him, leave us, I __will__ hunt you down and I __will__ make sure that no one will ever be able to claim your body simply because they will never be able to identify you."_

_She stares back at him._

"_Very good," he nods. "I think we understand each other. Have a nice evening."_

_And with that, he and Sanchez exit the apartment._

_Once the door closes behind them, Kensi does the only thing she can; she very calmly gets up, walks over the door, locks and deadbolts it and then turns and makes her way to the back of the apartment. _

_She heads into the bathroom, turns the shower on and gets under the water. She stands there as the steam rises, filling the room completely._

_And then – the blistering hot water beating down on her – she screams. It's an absolutely primal sound. Of rage, of pain, of anger, of disgust, of fear._

_Her eyes clouded with water and steam, she reaches forward and slams her fist against the tile in front of her. Once, twice, a third time, all the while screaming._

_The pain she feels radiating up her arm and running through her fist is enormous, but it feels __good__. Good because she understands pain, is pretty sure that she can handle and cope with pain. It's the loss of control that she doesn't know how to deal with. More to the point, it's the voluntary ceding of control._

_That's what it all comes down to – she'd given herself up to him, allowed him to control her completely. At no point during what had happened (she refuses to call it sex or rape or anything else for that matter) had she been in even the pretense of control. She could have stopped him, but Deeks would certainly have paid the price for her stubbornness, and that, she could never have allowed. So in a warped kind of way, she supposes, she had been in control. She'd been the one deciding whether Deeks would live or die and…_

_She stops. She knows she's rationalizing, trying to find a way to convince herself that she hadn't completely given in. But she knows the truth; she had._

_She screams and hits the wall again, and it cracks, splicing her knuckles. Blood flows over her fingers, mixing with the water and turning pink as it swirls down the drain. She'd moderately amazed that she hasn't broken her hand yet._

_When her strength finally gives out on her – along with her legs – she collapses to the floor of the shower, holding her body close, nearly in the fetal position._

_And then, head in her hands, she becomes aware of the fact that she's not sure where the water on her face is coming from._

* * *

He wonders if this is what insanity feels like.

Like skydiving knowing that there's no parachute in the pack, and in about half a minute, you're going to be eternally one with the cement beneath you.

Like driving towards the edge of a cliff going ninety knowing that the brake line on the car is cut, and there's no way to escape fiery death inside twisted metal.

No, all of that sounds too much like the every day that is – was – his partner. She'd been the crazy one of the two of them, the one most likely to actually try to pull off the standing up on a motorcycle firing two guns at once kind of stunt.

Yeah, this isn't like that at all.

This is more like knowing that one way or another, your life – but mostly your soul - is one hundred percent completely forfeit.

Badly hurt, lying on his stomach on a bed that desperately needs to be changed, Marty Deeks is higher than a kite, and completely aware of it. He feels the slippery tendrils of certain addiction slapping against his cheeks, but knows that he's helpless to prevent the inevitable chemical dependency.

Because right now, his back soaked with his own blood and every single nerve ending he has on fire, he just doesn't give a damn. He figures he probably won't live long enough to have to worry about the ugliness of being a heroin addict, and besides, right now, he just wants the pain to please, please just go away.

Not exactly intentionally, he allows his mind to slip backwards to the hours just before this one. To the beating that had seemed like it would never end. To the one that had happened after the last time the drugs had worn off. Apparently, Kassel had enjoyed the first whipping enough to ask for an encore. And his man with the whip (Deeks is pretty sure that it's his old "buddy" Alejandro back there) had been more than happy to enthusiastically comply with the request to make it as painful as possible.

Oh, but Deeks had been been strong and he'd been tough. Kassel had offered numerous times to stop the beating if he'd only give in and swear his fidelity.

Almost like a scene out of a really bad mobster movie.

He's not sure how long the scourging had gone on, but at least long enough for him to lose consciousness twice. By that point, the thick lacerations up and down his back had simply been too deep for him to just gut his way through the pain.

Kassel had, of course, waited for him to come back around, and then started the whipping anew, all while keeping his voice completely flat and calm.

Finally, when it had seemed like maybe there wasn't any more skin left on his back to strip away, Kassel had told his man to stop.

And then he'd bent down next to Deeks, and asked softly, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I like pain," Deeks had gasped out between hard dry hacks.

Kassel had just smiled. "Is this still all about your partner?"

He'd looked up at met Kassel's eyes, anger in his own bloodshot blue ones.

"I'm curious," Kassel had continued. "Did she tell you what really happened that afternoon between she and I? Did she go into details? Would you like me to?"

"Go to hell," Deeks had finally growled. He'd been desperately trying not to rise to the obvious bait, but Kassel knows exactly what buttons to push by now.

"When you saw her, did you see the bruises I left? I left them just for you. Well, for Jimmy. But since there never was a Jimmy, I suppose I left them for you."

And then Kassel had laughed. A simple and easy sound. Completely devoid of empathy or compassion. Absent of human soul.

"We'll have to break you of this idea you have that you're in control, Detective Deeks. From the moment you and I met, you were never in control. You're not in control now, and believe me when I say that you will never be in control again."

The absolute certainty in his tone had been chilling, but Deeks hadn't been allowed too much time to think about it before he'd felt the sharp prick of the needle as it was once pressed into his arm, heroin flooding his veins.

"There's only one thing that I want you to think about before you pass out," Kassel had told him, "I was able to make your partner do what I wanted her to do. _Whatever_ I wanted her to do. And she did it all to protect you. That's on you. And what happened after that, what happened to her, that's on you as well."

Then he'd leaned in even closer.

"Detective, what do you have left to fight for now? You don't have her, and there's no point in saving yourself. Give in, and I can make everything better - I can help you stop feeling the anger and guilt that you are. Refuse to give in, and I will hurt you in ways that you never imagined possible. I will break you completely. Really, it's your choice. I'm a big fan of choices."

He'd smirked when he'd said that, and then he'd gotten up and left the room, leaving Deeks to the pain and the drugs and the searing self-hatred.

Now, minutes or hours later (the passage of time feels completely alien to him now) he feels that self-hatred strong in his blood, eating away at him.

She'd given herself to Kassel in order to save him.

He tries to remind himself that she is – had been – his partner, and the very nature of their job was protecting each other.

That doesn't make it even a little bit better because then he just realizes how badly he'd let her down.

As the heroin ravages his mind, turning all of the colors inside out, and pushing open doors to memories he's long forgotten (and never wanted to remember), he wonders what death feels like.

Does it hurt? It must because _this_ hurts. This hurts so _badly_.

And if this hurts, oh God, Kensi….

He thinks about the bruises he'd seen on her arms – and legs – that night when he'd returned to the apartment. Dark spots intentionally created on her skin, angry souvenirs of an act made horrible by the evil of one awful man.

He feels a flush of violent anger, but it fades quickly as the chemical delirium once again overtakes him. He wonders really how bad it would be to just let go.

He'd like to think he's strong enough to hold out.

But as everything inside of him spins more and more out of focus, the belief he has in his own strength seems to give out.

He thinks back to that night.

To coming home to her. Tired and wanting nothing more than a quiet night.

* * *

_He's really starting to hate this Op._

_It's exhausting and frustrating, and he feels like after four weeks, even though he's in deep with the big boss and he's met a few of the suppliers, he's really not all that far along. He feels a bit like he's running in slow motion._

_Or maybe that's just his gut talking – the same gut that had been telling him all day that something wasn't right. The guy that Kassel had had him working with, a fellow named Alejandro, had pretty stayed by his side. It had felt kind of strange and weird, like maybe he was being watched._

_He unlocks the door to the apartment and turns the doorknob. To his surprise, it holds. He frowns, wondering why Kensi had locked the deadbolt as well. Even as security cautious as she is, she hasn't been locking that until bedtime. He unlocks that as well and steps inside. "Honey, I'm home," he calls out as he enters. He turns and relocks the door, including the deadbolt._

_He turns back to the Living Room, and the first thing he sees is her clothes (including one of his flannel shirts – and observation which makes him smirk) lying in a hastily discarded heap on the ground, next to the couch._

"_Okay, that's weird," he mutters. He looks towards the kitchen, doesn't see her in there. He starts towards the hallway. _

_He enters their room, and sees her immediately. She's bent over the dresser, in front of the mirror, wearing a bathrobe pulled tight over what looks like pajama bottoms. Her hair is wet, like she's just come out of the shower. It occurs to him that maybe that explains the clothing in the Living Room._

_Actually, no it doesn't. Kensi is, by nature, a messy person, but in the four weeks that they've been essentially living together, he's never seen her just drop her close and walk – obviously – naked through the apartment to the shower._

_He stops for the briefest of moments and lingers on that mental image. Immediately, he pulls himself out of it. Bad thoughts there, oh very bad._

"_Hey," he says, stepping towards her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. To his surprise, she immediately shrugs them off. And then she turns to face him._

_His mouth just about falls open as his eyes sweep across her tear-stained face. He can't even begin to imagine what could have caused this. The only time he's ever seen her even begin to cry is when she'd spoken of a lost lover, but even that had only been water in the corners of her eyes. This is so much more. _

"_What's wrong?" he whispers, biting down on the urge to say her name._

_She looks up at him, her dark eyes blazing furiously. "I did what I had to."_

"_What do you…what does that mean?" he asks, fear streaking through him. He reaches for her again, but again, she pulls away and steps back. _

_He sees that she's struggling to find words. She looks up, and around the room, her eyes settling on the air vent in the corner, a place where they know one of the audio bugs is hidden. _

_Finally, her voice barely a whisper, "Mr. Kassel came by today, Jimmy." She's biting off the words, which tells him that she may be using the names of their covers, but whatever had happened, had happened to her. To Kensi._

"_Why?" he asks._

"_Because of the other night. He told me…he told me what you've been doing. He told me about the drugs."  
_

_He tries to meet her eyes, tries to figure out where this is going. Why are they having this bizarre conversation? And why is she so upset?_

"_Kara," he forces out. "I'm sorry."_

"_Too late for that," she says. _

"_What does that mean? Are you leaving me?"_

_He rather hopes that her answer is yes. Then, at least, he could get Kensi the hell away from this whole op before it goes upside down._

_She laughs then, and he feels his stomach lurch. The sound she's making, it's not controlled. She's not playing a part. "I couldn't if I wanted to," she tells him._

"_Kara."_

"_He's making me tell you," she says. "I don't want to. And I didn't want to do...what..."  
_

"_Didn't want to what?" he asks, dread sinking in on him._

_She takes a breath, and then reaches down and opens up her bathrobe. Underneath, he sees that she's wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a wifebeater, but he doesn't see any of her clothing, he just sees the bruises. They're up and down her arms, large finger-shaped marks pressed hard into her skin. A few of them are already purplish. _

"_The guy you were with today had orders to kill you if I didn't…if I didn't. I had no choice. I had to…I had to let…let him."_

_She doesn't even need to completely say the words for him to understand what had happened to her. The pile of clothes in the Living Room, the dark bruises on her, the overly-scrubbed nature of her skin, and the way she's refusing to let him touch her, it all makes a horrible kind of sense._

"_I let him," she says again._

_She lifts her eyes up to his, and he sees how truly difficult this is for her. Normally, she would have just internalized it, dealt with it on her own. That she's being forced to tell him, to make him go through the pain as well, it's killing her._

"_God," he says. _

"_I'm okay," she replies, and he has a feeling that she's intentionally breaking character now. It's dangerous and risky, but maybe she sees something in his eyes, something telling her just how hard this is hitting him. It's kind of amazing to him that after what she's gone through, she's trying to protect him._

"_God," he repeats, because he can find no other words. _

"_I'm okay," she insists again, and he hears anger in her tone. She's trying to convince him, and this all seems so surreal. _

_He just stares at her, at her arms, at her face._

"_Please," she whispers, after almost a minute has passed. "Please say something." _

"_I'm sorry," he finally manages. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."_

_The words sound childish and insignificant even to his own ears._

"_This is my fault," he continues._

_And for him, there can be no denial of that. She had wanted to end the mission, but he'd insisted on staying in simply because he's never asked to leave an op before. Stubbornness really. _

_Stubbornness that had gotten his partner hurt._

"_It is," she says simply. And then he sees her eyes go to the vent again. "But we have to deal with this."_

"_No. I'm done," he tells her, knowing that she will understand that what he means is, "We're done, mission over, time to pull the plug."_

_She looks back at him, and shakes her head frantically. "No, we can't. He said he'll hunt us down if we try to run."_

_She's trying to say something, but either it's not clear or he's not hearing it. All he wants right now is to get her to safety.  
_

"_I don't care," he replies. "I don't."_

"_I do," she answers, her voice cold. She sounds completely like Kensi. Angry, but in control. And out for blood. _

_He gets it; this is personal now, and she has every intention of seeing it through to the end. She wants – needs – to bring Kassel down. In person._

"_No," he says, shaking his head, trying to convince her._

_He should know better; even hurt, she's an unmovable block when she wants to be. And right now, she wants to be._

_His eyes track back down to the bruises – and to what he's sure is a bite mark on the inside of her elbow. He wonders if those same marks are on her legs. _

_Suddenly, her hand is on his arm, and she's yanking him towards the bathroom. She all but throws him into it, and then closes the door behind him. They know for a fact that there's no surveillance equipment in here. Which means that for just a few minutes, they can be Kensi and Deeks._

"_We're not walking away," she says, anger making her hammer out each word._

"_We need to. This has gone too far. We should have gotten out a few days ago. When you wanted us, too."_

"_We made that decision together," she tells him. "What happened today, I let it happen. It's not your fault."_

"_It is," he says, this time repeating her words. She'd said them before for Kassel's ears. He's saying them now for hers. She may not have meant what she had said, but he certainly means what he's saying. "It is my fault."_

"_Stop. We're a team, right?"_

_He looks back at her, not understanding. Slowly, though, he nods._

"_I need you with me on this then," she says, and he thinks he hears a falter in her voice. Maybe a bit of fear._

"_I'm always with you," he replies. It could be a corny statement at any other time, and perhaps, at any other time, she would have mocked him for it. But now, she looks utterly moved by it. He sees her force a smile of gratitude._

_And then, quite inexplicably to him, she steps towards him and reaches for him. She stops just short, almost like she's uncertain._

"_Kensi," he mouths, needing to say her name._

_He reaches out and pulls her close, holding her as tight to him as he possibly can. It's bone-crushing really, but neither of them care. She presses her face against his chest, and while she's not crying, she is shaking._

_They stay like that for several minutes, just him holding her. And then, she pulls back and looks up at him. She reaches up with her injured hand (he sees the nasty cuts across them – they've been cleaned up, but they're still ugly) and touches his face, running her fingers over his bearded jaw._

_He says her name again. He puts his hand over her hand on his cheek, and gives it a light squeeze. _

"_It's not your fault," she tells him again, and he thinks she probably knows him well enough to know that he'll never believe that. But then she adds, "And I am okay. I am. I am." He's not sure exactly who she's trying to convince._

_And then she does something he absolutely never saw coming – she leans up and kisses him, pressing her lips (he thinks he feels a slight cut on the lower one) softly against his own._

* * *

She stops talking abruptly, then reaches for the glass of water on the tray in front of her, and takes a healthy swig of it. Almost immediately, she winces as the water rushes through her, and her ribs protest the sudden activity.

"Kensi," Nate says softly. "What happened next?"

"It doesn't matter," she replies, settling back against the pillows. He's noticed how much weaker she's been getting throughout their conversation, like her energy has slowly been seeping out of her. "It's not important to the case."

"If something happened between you and Deeks…"

"It wouldn't have mattered if something had or hadn't happened, Nate. He was always going to do what he did the next morning. That's how he's built. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him it wasn't his fault."

"Do you believe that?" Nate queries. "That it wasn't his fault?"

"Yes. We made the choice to stay in together. I made the choice to do what I had to do to protect him. He made the choice to try to do the same the next morning."

"Are you angry about that choice?" It's a careful question, but a purposeful one – he's trying to get at her mindset in regards to her partner, trying to gauge her feelings for him and for what had occurred between them.

She smiles softly. "Angry? No. Do I wish he hadn't? Of course, but it doesn't matter. Sanchez was always going to break and sell us out eventually. We just didn't realize it until far too late. Besides, if anyone is to blame, it's me. I pushed us to stay in."

"Like you said before, you two made that decision together. You followed him after he wanted to stay in and he followed you after you did."

"Right."

"So why didn't you at least make contact with Ops to let them know that the case had taken a turn for the worst? They could have been better prepared to help."

"Partly because we knew Hetty would pull us out if we had, but mostly because everything went upside down so quickly. You realize that less than twenty-four hours passed between when Kassel came to the apartment, and when Sanchez blew our covers?"

"I do. Do you remember that part? What happened after your covers were blown?"

"Only bits and pieces," she replies. And then she yawns.

"You're tired," he notes.

"Exhausted," she confirms. "But I can do this."

"An hour ago, you didn't want to talk to me at all."

"I still don't really want to, but you're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"Actually, for a little bit, I am. I want to call over to Hetty, and make sure everyone is on the same page. Should take me a little bit. While I'm doing it, I want you to try to sleep. And for once, Kensi, don't fight me; you desperately need it."

She nods slowly, her eyelids suddenly, almost obscenely heavy. Then, softly, "We are going to find him, right?" there's a desperate almost child-like plea to her voice.

"We're going to do our best," he promises.

"Sometimes I wish you could lie to me," she says, eyelids drooping. A moment later, he can tell that she's sleeping.

"Sometimes, I wish I could, too," he replies, then turns and exits the room.

**TBC...**


	10. Chapter 10

**All - well one day late, but reasonably on time. This is a bit of a transitional chapter, but I do want to provide a crass language and violence warning - let's just say things get a bit mean and salty. I really appreciate all of the kind words thus far. All typos are mine. Thanks for the support.**

* * *

She watches him for several minutes before she finally approaches, her footsteps soft. Still, he hears her coming, and neither of them is completely sure whether that's intentional or not.

"Hetty," Callen says, deep exhaustion in his voice. "Don't imagine you brought something to drink with you? Preferably something hard."

She smiles slightly. "I don't think it would be a smart time to allow for the mind altering effects of alcohol."

"Maybe not," he agrees. "But it'd sure make me feel better."

"Me, too," she admits.

"Done talking to Nate?" he asks.

"Yes. Ms. Blye pretty much confirmed Lieutenant Sanchez's story in full."

"Damn," Callen mutters, shaking his head. "I guess I'd been hoping…nevermind." Then, looking behind her. "Where's Sam?" he asks. "You didn't…you didn't leave him alone with Sanchez did you?"

"Do I look daft, Mr. Callen?"

He simply smiles.

"Exactly. No, I sent him to get some coffee for us from a little shop about half a mile away."

"I bet he jumped right on that one," Callen chuckles.

"You'd be surprised," she responds. "I think just as you needed to step out and clear your head for a moment, so does he."

"Yeah."

"We weren't wrong, Mr. Callen."

"To send her in?"

"She was ready."

"Yeah, and unfortunately, Kassel made her prove it," he replies bitterly, turning to look at the water.

"We have all done things we didn't want to in order to survive."

"You don't have to tell me that, Hetty. I know."

"I know you do, but I need you to listen to me anyway. Ms. Blye did something she felt she had no choice but to do in order to save her partners' life and to save the operation. She needs you to understand that because the chances are, that's the only way she can rationalize her actions in her own mind."

"She didn't have a choice, Hetty. That's my problem. This wasn't a difficult choice where if she says no, everything just takes a little bit longer to get done. She was forced. We can call it whatever we'd like…"

"She calls it taking care of her partner, and that's what she needs us to call it."

"And who makes sure that she's okay underneath all of the lies?"

"For now, we'll leave that to Nate."

It's clear he doesn't like what she's saying, but finally, he mutters, "I really want to drop that guy into the middle of a prison yard somewhere and scream cop."

"I presume you're speaking about Lieutenant Sanchez?" Off his nodded reply, she continues. "While I understand completely, Mr. Callen, I feel that I must remind you that now is not the time for vengeance."

He turns to face her. "How do you always stay so calm? She's one of ours, Hetty. So is Deeks. That little bastard in there –"

"I know what that monster did to them, and believe me when I tell you that I am feeling everything that you are and more. But there is a time and a place for these emotions, and it is not now."

"Understood."

"Good. Then shall we return to Lieutenant Sanchez?"

"Sam's not back yet."

"That may be for the best. I believe that Mr. Hanna is struggling with this even more than you are."

"You know how he feels about Kensi."

"Yes, and though he's loathe to admit it, he's taken Mr. Deeks under his wing as well. He feels a personal responsibility to and for both of them."

"We all do."

"Then let's turn those feelings towards getting the rest of this story, finding out where they're hiding Mr. Deeks, and bringing him home."

* * *

When Callen returns to the Interrogation Room, he finds Sanchez bent over the table, sweating slightly, clearly in pain.

At first, Sanchez refuses to pick up from where they'd left off previously, demanding something for the pain first. Finally, after several minutes of back and forth that ends with Callen assuring the former soldier that once he's told them the entire tale, his pain will be appropriately remedied, Sanchez once again begins to speak.

* * *

_He knows exactly why Deeks wants to see him; he'd been with Kassel listening as Agent Blye had told her partner what had happened to her – what Kassel had done to her. He knows that the detective is furious; he just assumes that the cop will do what all pathetic white-hats do – piss and whine and throw out a lot of expletive laced empty threats._

_In a weird almost bent kind of way, he's almost looking forward to the confrontation because for once, Paul Sanchez is pretty damn sure that he has the upper hand. After all, the cops need him more than he needs them. It's just that simple, and he figures Deeks had better get to understanding that right quick._

"_Deeks," he grins as the blonde cop approaches him. Sanchez is standing under a rotted out dock in Pasadena, the rushing water stopping just a few inches away from his black boot clad feet. "How's your lovely partner doing this morning?"_

_He never sees it coming (though, of course, even he knows that he should have); Deeks pulls back and punches him hard across the face. The impact is violent and immediately painful. Sanchez tumbles to his knees, his hands touching the wet sand as he braces himself. He curses under his breath.  
_

"_Did you know he was going to do that to her?" Deeks demands.  
_

_Sanchez laughs. Almost immediately, he knows that it was the wrong thing to do, because Deeks gets an almost crazed look in his eyes._

_Sanchez feels himself get lifted up, slammed back down, and then Deeks is atop him, hands around his throat, squeezing. "I asked you a question you little bastard. Did you fucking know that he was going to do that to her? Did you know?"_

"_Yes," Sanchez finally chokes out. "I knew."_

"_Why didn't you warn me?" Deeks asks, releasing his hands._

"_I did warn you. I warned you not to cross me, and you didn't listen. You didn't listen and she paid for the price for it." For a moment, Deeks seems taken aback, and Sanchez uses it to his advantage, driving one of his fists directly into the cop's punch lands a bit high, just above Deek's left eye.  
_

_Deeks grunts and falls back, blinking as blood streams into his eyes. He puts his hand up, and feels a cut just above his eyebrow._

"_I warned you," Sanchez says again, getting to his feet. _

"_What the hell are you playing at?" Deeks demands, also standing up. He moves towards Sanchez again. _

"_Whatever I want, Detective. You getting that yet?" It's like a rush of euphoria, this feeling of control. _

_Deeks looks back at him incredulously. "This isn't a game, Sanchez. And you're not a free man, and when this is over, you're going to prison."_

"_Just for a little while," Sanchez smirks. "And then I will be a free man again."_

_Deeks has him up against one of the pillars before he even knows what hit him._

"_That depends on you," the cop tells him, voice low and furious. "You go near her again, you let your boss even consider touching her again, and I don't give a shit about your precious little sweetheart deal. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you spend the rest of your life behind bars if not in the ground, do you hear what I'm saying?"_

"_You'd think you'd have learned that threatening me is a bad idea, Detective."_

"_You're nothing but a sad and pathetic little man who thinks he has power because his boss does. I'm not afraid of you, Sanchez." Deeks slams him against the pillar as if to prove his point._

"_Maybe not, but I bet she is."_

"_You wish." Deeks laughs, and there's a hint of derisive disgust in his tone. He releases his hold on Sanchez and steps back. "Now, as much as we both hate it, we have a job to do, and if I were you, I'd be very glad for it because it's the only keeping me from kicking the shit out of you right about now."_

"_That and you're a cop."_

"_I've forgotten that before," Deeks tells him, and there's a deadly seriousness to his tone, one that suggests that he might not be bluffing. "Trust me, I'd have no problem forgetting it again for you."_

"_You know how I know you're full of shit, Detective? Because you cops are all about the mission. Nothing is more important than that. That's why your hot little partner let my boss fuck her – for the mission, right?"_

_He sees Deeks clench his fists, and wonders if he again went too far. But then, that euphoric feeling is still surging through him. Even though he's feeling more than a little scared right now, Sanchez feels like he's completely in control._

"_Believe what you want," Deeks growls, "But I promise you, you even look at her again and mission or no mission, it'll be the last time you look at anyone."_

_The two men stare at each other for a long moment before finally, Sanchez puts up his hands. "All right, all right. I hear you. I saw what I needed to anyway."  
_

_Refusing to once again rise to the bait, Deeks simply says, "Just remember what I said." And then he turns and walks away, heading back up the sand._

_Sanchez watches him go, a hand straying up to touch his sore jaw. He's just about done with being pushed around by anyone, especially some idiot cop who thinks he's something special – who thinks he has power - just because he has a gun and badge. No, power comes from shows of deadly force and brutal violence. Kassel has taught him that, if nothing else. Seems maybe it's about time to let Deeks and his pretty little partner in on that secret.  
_

_He considers his sweetheart deal, and then disregards it, realizing that he's never really intended to allow himself to be locked away in a little box. Deep down, he figures, he's always known that he'd turn on the Feds and the cops given the chance. It's their fault for not expecting him to do it._

_Now, all that's left to figure out is how to out the two cops without letting Kassel know that he'd been in on the op from the beginning._

_Tricky, he thinks, but doable._

_Sanchez laughs. "My move, Detective," he says._

* * *

"So what was your great plan?" Callen asks, making it quite clear with his tone that he doesn't actually think Sanchez capable of simple math much less a clever skin-saving plot.

"Hadn't come up with one yet," Sanchez shrugs. "Turns out I didn't need one."

"Kassel knew you were working with us?" Sam queries, stepping forward. He'd come into the room about halfway through Sanchez's description of his meeting with Deeks at the dock.

"Not exactly. I mean not then anyway. But what you gotta understand is, Kassel is a mean bastard, and when he hurts someone like he hurt your girl, he likes to watch the fall-out. He likes to stick close by and watch the pain. I forgot that."

Callen and Sam exchange a knowing look – the more they hear about Kassel, the more he seems to fit the profile of a narcissist sociopath. Which essentially means that he sees himself as the center of the universe, and everyone else around is there just to serve – or entertain – him.

"So you're saying he was having you watched so he could see how 'Jimmy' would react to what he'd done," Callen sums up.

"Yeah. And when the guy he had following me reported back what he'd seen and heard between Deeks and I…"

"Kassel figured out that your relationship with Deeks went a bit deeper than what he'd thought. Which means he figured out you were working with the cops."

"He suspected. Which is why he had Alejandro pick me up," Sanchez says bitterly. He rubs at his jaw, where there are still shadows of bruises several days old.

* * *

_Sanchez enters the office slowly, ice in his gut. Ever since Alejandro had come to find him, saying that the Boss needed to see him immediately, he's had a feeling that something bad is about to go down. That Alejandro sticks around after the door to the office is closed does nothing to calm his fears._

"_Sir? Was there something –"_

"_Are you working with the cops, Paul?" Kassel breaks in, getting right to the point._

_Sanchez swallows hard. His mind whirls as he tries to come up with a believable lie, but the more seconds pass, the more he knows he's screwed._

"_Oh, Paul," Kassel sighs, shaking his head dramatically. "Why?"_

"_It's not like I went to them. I'd never do that. I never wanted to do this," Sanchez blurts out, his words falling over each other._

"_So why then?"_

_They picked me up. After that surfer kid tried to blackmail me, and you told me to take care of him. I did exactly as you asked, but then the cops came by – NCIS."_

"_NCIS," Kassel repeats. It's been many years since he's heard about that Federal agency, not since his short stint in the service way, way back._

"_They told me either I help them or they'd throw me in jail. I panicked."_

"_Clearly. So Jimmy –"_

"_LAPD. It's a joint op between them and NCIS," Sanchez replies quickly._

"_Interesting. And the girl? What is she? NCIS?" Off Sanchez nodding, Kasses muses, "Now that, I would never have suspected. Especially after her…performance yesterday." He scratches his chin, looking almost contemplative. "You realize what you've done, right?" _

"_Sir…"_

_Kassel nods to Alejandro, who suddenly kicks the leg of the chair Sanchez is in, causing him to fall to the ground. Before he has time to realize what's happened, Alejandro has him up and against the wall and has delivered two thunderously painful hits right to his mid-section, and another one to his jaw._

"_You abused my trust and my generosity and willingly brought law enforcement into my business," Kassel says as he approaches. "You corrupted the team, Paul. And you – you of all people – know how that has to be dealt with."_

"_No!" Sanchez says quickly, between gasps. "Wait, wait, I can help."_

"_Help me with what?"_

"_Help you deal with the cops."_

"_Ah. So you think that's what's going to happen next, do you?"_

"_Like you said, Sir, I of all people know what has to be done to traitors," Sanchez says. "And I know you see me as one, but I had no choice."_

"_No choice? Really?"_

"_I can't go to prison. I can't." There's an almost pathetic pleading whine in his voice. "They'll kill me in there. I'll never survive."_

"_And you think you're going to survive betraying me. How interesting."_

"_I think…I think I can still be of use to you."_

"_How so?"_

"_Deeks…"_

"_That's the cop's name?"_

"_Yeah. Marty Deeks. Her name is Kensi Blye."_

"_Go on."_

"_I can lure Deeks and his partner out, lead them right into a trap. He'll never suspect a thing if I say I want to meet."_

"_Why wouldn't I just have them picked up at their apartment?"_

"_Because he's about to bug out. He and the girl, they're an actual couple. and he's all freaked out by what happened to her. I could tell that he wants to pull the plug. By tonight, I bet the apartment is empty."_

_Kassel nods thoughtfully, clearly intrigued. He holds up a hand to Alejandro. "Leave us."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_The door closes behind him, and Kassel turns back to Sanchez. "Your life or theirs, Paul. And let's be clear, I'm not sure you'll get to keep yours anyway."_

"_I won't let you down," Sanchez promises him._

"_Oh, you already have. You let the whole team down. Time to make amends," Kassel tells him. His tone is almost like that of a disappointed father. It's almost enough to make Sanchez forget who this man really is._

_Almost._

_But he's worked for Kassel for too long, and he knows better than anyone how this works. He knows that the only way for him to be allowed to live is to essentially become what Alejandro is – a paid thug._

_Well so be it then._

* * *

She sleeps for almost two hours after Nate leaves the room. When she comes to, quickly noticing that she's alone in the room, she doesn't feel any more rested. If anything, Kensi Blye feels like she's even more on edge.

"Hey, you're awake," she hears. She looks up to see Renko standing in the doorway, a can of some kind of super caffeinated energy drink in his hand. She sees the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Mike," she says softly. Her right hand lifts up, and she scratches at the bandage on the side of her head, suddenly seeming almost self-conscious. And perhaps she is a bit; this man is used to seeing her when she's tough as nails, not when she's lying on her back in a too-white, too-sterile hospital room.

"How you feeling, Kiddo?" he asks, stepping inside the room. He approaches her bed, and drops himself down into the chair next to it.

She smiles at him, tries to make it somewhat cocky because she figures that's what he wants to see. Needs to see. "Better every minute," she tells him. "Ready to go home to my place, and take a long hot bath."

"You know," he says, choosing to ignore the obvious insanity of her thinking she'll be going home anytime soon, "I have to admit, I was a bit surprised when you told us that you're a bubble bath kind of girl. I wouldn't have made you for it."

"Still a girl, Mike," she chuckles. It's a dry sound, and immediately, Renko reaches for her glass of water, adjusts the straw in it, and hands it to her.

"Drink," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. Especially the silly stubborn kind, which is what she's likely to offer up right now.

She sighs, and accepts the water, taking a few drops, just enough to lubricate her dry throat. She licks her lips, and then says, "I could use some Blistex."

"I'll pick you up some next time I wander down to the store," he promises.

"Thanks."

"So, seriously, how are you?" he presses after a few moments. He's keeping his eyes locked on hers, intentionally trying not to look at all of the bruises on her arms (especially the ones that look like they were made by male hands).

She shrugs.

"Not an answer."

"You sound like Nate. Speaking of, where is he?"

"Why? Sick of my company already?"

"No. Never."

"See, when you talk like that, I get to thinking I might have a chance."

"You don't," she laughs.

"Damn. Wait, what about if I ask you after they give you some painkillers?"

"That's just wrong."

"True, but I take what I can get."

They share a comfortable smile.

"So, Nate?" she asks again.

"I think he's still talking with the Callen and the others. They were debriefing."

"You mean they were comparing stories."

"Probably," he admits.

"I hate this," she says. "I hate that they're talking about me like I'm some kind of victim. I hate that they're thinking of me like that."

"After what you went through…"

"I'm here aren't I?" she cuts in, her voice rough and insistent.

"And thank God for that," Renko replies softly.

"Then I'm not a victim," she insists.

"I don't think dying is the only way to be a victim, Kens."

"You're not hearing me," she says, determination in her tone. "I am _not_ a victim."

"I believe you," he tells her. "But that doesn't mean you weren't hurt."

"He's right, Kensi," Nate says as he enters the room. "Besides, there are two ways to think about the term 'victim'."

"First, don't shrink me, Nate and second, I'm neither."

"Well, first, it's my job to shrink you. And second, from the technical perspective, you _are_ the definition of a victim of a crime, and there's absolutely no shame in admitting that," Nate replies.

"Yes, there is. I'm not a victim of anything or anyone," she nearly spits out.

Nate considers correcting her again, considers trying to get her to understand that the in the context he's using the term, it's strictly a descriptive law enforcement term – she was the victim of a brutal attack, and he's not ever talking about what Kassel had forced her to do. That's a whole other ball of hurt.

He knows this woman, though, and he knows that he's wasting his time trying to make her see the difference between being a victim and being someone's victim. In any case, she's determined to be neither, and in the best of times, trying to convince Kensi Blye that she's wrong about something in an exercise in futility.

So instead, he says, "Are you hungry?"

She frowns slightly at that. "I think so?" she finally replies. Then, "I don't know. Is one of these tubes…are they feeding me through tubes?"

"I'm not sure. I'll talk to a nurse, and see what they can get you. They may want you on fluids only right now just to be safe."

She groans, then turns to Renko. "Breakout Special?"

He laughs. "If it's safe for you."

"What's a Breakout Special?" Nate asks.

Renko and Kensi exchange a rather conspiratorial look, and then both laugh. Kensi waves her hand dismissively. "It's nothing."

Nate studies her for a moment; he's somewhat relieved to see her still able to actually find moments of mirth, senseless and shallow though they be. He suspects that in the weeks to come, regardless of whether or not the team is able to find Deeks, she's going to need to lean on the moments that don't hurt to get her through the ones that do.

He kind of hates that his special assignment is going to take him away from her right when she needs him the most.

"Nate, you're staring," she says. "And shrinking me in your head. I can tell."

"Sorry."

"I'll uh, check on her food, Doc," Renko says quickly. "You guys, I'm sure, need to talk again." He looks over at Kensi. "Unless you want me to stay."

She meets his eyes. "No, I'm good," she replies.

He nods, and there's a hint of both relief and sadness in his expression. Nate had given him a quick Reader's Digest version of what had occurred, and that had almost been too much for him, but he's not all that thrilled with the idea that she doesn't think he'll see her as the same person after finding out the truth of everything that had happened to her.

In his eyes – and he's quite certain Callen and Sam are the same in this respect – there's very little that could change how he sees her; as a dear friend, a kickass agent and a badass woman who even on her worst days (and these ones certainly would qualify as that) should not be fucked with.

Just the same, though, he respects her need to not have him in the room. He nods once more to Nate, and exits.

"So," Nate says, sitting down next to her.

"So. What were you all talking about?" It's such a casual question, but he knows what she's asking.

"They're angry," Nate confirms. "For you, and for Deeks. You would be, too, if you were in their place right now."

"I'm angry now," she says, mostly to herself. Then, to Nate, " But they know I'm okay, though, right? You told them that, right?"

"I couldn't tell them that because I don't think it's the truth."

She looks up at him with some surprise in her eyes; that's the very last thing she had expected him to say.

"You've been through a horrible trauma – both with what Kassel did you to in the apartment –" she starts to protest, but he cuts her off. "I get it, Kensi, I do. You keep saying you did what you had to do. You keep making it your choice, but we both know you didn't really have a choice."

"I did," she says softly, almost as if she's desperately clinging to the words.

"Okay. So your choice was to fight back or to have sex with Kassel." He sees the way she flinches, but chooses to push on. He knows that if he softens up or retreats, he'll never get through to her. As is, he's not sure he's going to be able to break through anyway. "If you had fought back, Kensi, I think we both know that Deeks certainly would have been killed, and you probably would have been as well. So tell me, what choice did you really have?"

"What happened to you?" she asks suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I just…you're different, Nate."

"And you're trying to push us off course."

She smiles slightly, but doesn't deny it.

"I know this is hell," he says. "But it's okay to admit –"

"No, it's not," she cuts in. "I mean it is hell, but…but I need to be strong right now, Nate. He needs me strong. Whatever else happened, whatever else I'm feeling, none of it matters. All that matters is finding Marty."

"Marty?"

She blinks, surprised. Then, stammering. "I meant Deeks. Deeks. We have to find Deeks."

"What happened between you two in the bathroom?" he asks again, though he's fairly sure that this time, just like last time, she's going to stonewall.

He's right; she shakes her head. "Not important."

"Okay, fine. Then tell me what happened after it."

"Only if you promise to believe me."

"Believe you that you're fine?"

"Believe me that I'm no one's victim."

"What I believe is that I've never met anyone as stubborn or as strong as you in my life. I believe that if anyone can get through this, it's you."

"I suppose that will have to do, right?"

"It's the best you're getting." He offers her a smile. She returns it, though not nearly as convincingly. To him, she just looks tired and sad. "You ready?"

"You know I don't remember everything."

"I know. Just tell me what you do remember."

She nods. She reaches for the water again, takes another sip, and then starts speaking, her voice soft, and through sheer force of will, steady.

* * *

_She's alone in the bed when she comes to, which isn't all that strange considering that this is how she's woken up for the last four weeks, but after last night, after what had happened between she and Deeks, well it's more than a bit disconcerting not to have him lying next to her. Disconcerting and unsettling._

_And not just because she wants him to be here (and to her surprise, she really does), but because she knows that right now, she needs him here, and it bothers her more that she cares to admit to ever need anyone._

_She had needed Jack, and then he had walked away from her, shattering her. She'd promised never again would she allow herself to be so vulnerable._

_She reminds herself that Deeks isn't Jack and this situation – her relationship with Deeks – it isn't even close (in a very good and somewhat confusing way) to similar to the one that she'd had with her former fiancée. _

_But still…_

_She gets up slowly, stiffly, her body aching. Wincing, she makes her way over to the mirror and looks into it, her eyes sweeping over the various marks and bruises up and down her naked body. She runs her finger over a puffy red bite mark on her left upper thigh, and shivers fiercely, her stomach suddenly seizing violently. For a moment, she thinks that maybe she's about to throw up. _

"_Stop it," she orders herself, her voice too low for the microphones to pick up. "You're fine. You are fine."_

_She has to repeat it a few times, but eventually, she can feel herself calming down. She breathes in, breathes out, repeats, gets control._

_She showers quickly, dresses even quicker (putting on jeans and a baggy sweatshirt) and makes her way out to the front room. She realizes quickly that she's the only one in the apartment._

_She glances down at her watch, and to her surprise sees that it's past nine in the morning. Normally, Deeks is long back from his surf by now. She feels a spark of panic race through, but quickly stomps it down. Knowing Deeks, he's likely sitting on his board in the middle of the water, probably trying to figure out where the hell they're supposed to go from here. It makes sense. Really, it does. That doesn't stop her from worrying. Especially after the events from the prior day. What if Kassel is having Deeks followed? What if he still intends to hurt "Jimmy" for his failure to sell?_

_She picks up her phone and quickly punches in the number for Jimmy Reese's cell. It rings three times, and then goes to voicemail. "Honey, it's me," she says. "I'm just checking in to see where you are. Call me. Please."_

_Looking around, she realizes that wants to be anywhere but in this damned apartment. She suddenly hates this place. _

_Just as she thinks she's about to explode (or run from the apartment looking like she's completely lost her mind) the door opens, and Deeks enters._

"_De-Jimmy," she says, stepping towards him._

"_Hey," he stammers, seeming both surprised and pleased to see her. That's when she notices the bloody cut above his eye._

"_What the hell happened to you?" she demands. She reaches out to touch him, but he catches her hand, and diverts it, holding it tight in his own instead. She feels him interlace his fingers with hers._

"_It's nothing," he assures her. "Did you just get up? Are you all right?"_

"_I'm fine," she murmurs, her eyes still on the wound. She removes her hand from his (almost reluctantly), then reaches up and runs a finger over his eyebrow, her nail tracing the slightly swollen skin just below the cut. "But you're not. We need to clean that up. You might need stitches."_

"_It's no big deal."  
_

_She stares at him, and for a moment, he thinks maybe she's about to go off on him. He'd almost welcome that, really, because it would be them again, and not these two idiot dolts James and Kara. She keeps her cool, though (which he thinks, is more than he can say for himself) and simply replies, "Sit down."_

_Her tone leaves no room for argument so instead of putting up one, he moves to sit down on the couch._

"_Not there," she says quickly, and he sees a disgusted look cross her face. That's all he needs to know that that's where Kassel had done what he done to her._

_Silently, he crosses into to the kitchen, and sits at the table where they typically share breakfast. She goes over to the sink, gets a dishtowel, soaks it with water and then returns, and drops down next to him._

"_It's really nothing," he insists as she presses the cloth to the cut, cleaning away the blood and sand._

_She smiles grimly. "Wasn't I the one saying that last night?"_

"_No, you were saying that you were okay. Different words."_

_He meets her eyes, and she sees something so pained and hurt in his deep blues that it almost makes her pull away like she's been burned. Instead, she lifts a hand up, and touches his face, her fingers tracing over his stubled cheek._

"_Talk to me," she whispers as she drops the dishtowel to the table and turns her full attention to him. "Tell me what you're thinking."_

"_I'm sorry," he says._

_She shakes her head. "I told you already, what happened, it wasn't your fault. I made the choice. I –"_

"_No, listen. I think…I think I made it worse," he tells her, his voice just barely a whisper. "I really think I screwed this up."_

_For a moment, she thinks he's talking about his decision not to sell to the kids around the complex, but something in his deep blue eyes tells her that it's more than that. "What are you talking about?" she asks._

"_I went to see Sanchez."_

"_Oh..." she almost says his name, but ends up mouthing it instead._

"_I lost my mind," he continues. "I couldn't stand you hurt." He pauses. "I can't stand you hurt."_

_For the briefest of moments, she'd thought that maybe he was still acting, but the way his voice sounds, almost tortured, she knows that he's no longer playing the part. This is one hundred percent Marty Deeks talking to her._

"_What did you do?" she asks, her voice suddenly steely._

_He shakes his head. "Not now. There's no time. Right now, we need to go."_

"_Wait…did you…you decided this while you were out…there...wherever?"_

"_Yes," he nods, standing back up. "Now please, let's go."_

"_What if I'd been asleep still?"_

"_I was going to put you in the car and get you the hell out of here."_

"_You're not making sense," she insists, reaching out and grabbing his arm. She holds it tight, underscoring the sudden intimacy between the partners. "Please."_

_He turns to face her, putting a hand over hers. "I know you have questions, and I promise you, I'll give you all the answers I have. Later. Right now, I need you to trust me and come with me. We need to leave. Okay? _

"_Okay," she says softly, making it clear to him that trust is not an issue between them. "Give me two minutes to grab some things."_

_He simply nods. It's almost like he's in shock._

_She heads to the back, grabs a pair of shoes, her purse (checking to ensure that Hetty's knife is in it), and a sweatshirt for him (he's wearing only jeans and a thin white tee-shirt) and then returns to the kitchen._

"_I'm ready," she tells him, handing him the sweatshirt. "Are you sure about this? I mean, you know what this means, right?"_

"_I know it means walking away," he confirms. _

"_You never have."_

"_There's a first time for everything."_

"_This can't all be about me."_

"_It's not."_

"_Promise me that."_

"_I promise."_

"_Then let's go."_

_He stands up, takes a look behind him, and then opens the front door. Just as they're walking through it, his cell rings._

"_Who is it?" she asks, coming up behind him._

"_Sanchez," he replies, looking at the screen._

"_Answer it," she says, determination in her expression._

"_Yeah?" Deeks asks, putting the call on speaker so Kensi can hear it._

"_Hey, we need to meet. Immediately."_

"_Now's not a good time, Paul."_

"_Trust me, this is important. This could all be over tonight."_

_The two partners exchange a look. Kensi nods at him as if to say, "tell him we'll meet him", but for a minute, Deeks stays quiet._

_In this line of work, it's wise to be wary of too good to be true, and this sudden turn of fate right as they're about to pack it sends alarm bells ringing._

_She tilts her head inquisitively. "What's wrong?"_

"_Hold on a minute, Paul," Deeks says, and then mutes the phone. "I have a bad feeling about this."_

"_If we have a chance to finish this, shouldn't we?"_

"_Just ten seconds ago, we'd agreed to walk away. What's changed?"_

"_Shouldn't we find out?"_

"_I don't know. I just know that we need to be thinking clearly about this."_

"_Deeks, that's the problem here; neither of us is thinking clearly. I want to stay in because I want nothing less than to put a bullet right between Kassel's eyes. You want out at least partially because – whether you want to admit it or not - you want to protect me."_

"_So the question is, where do we go from here?" Deeks asks, not bothering to refute her conclusions (why bother – he does want to protect her, desperately so). "What's the right play, Partner?"  
_

"_We have a job to do. I say we do it."_

_He looks at her again, and she can see the uncertainty in his eyes, but reluctantly, he takes her lead. He unmutes the phone, "Where?"_

"_The parking lot of the Taco Bell you did the first delivery at."_

"_No, where we meet this morning." _

"_Fine. Thirty minutes. And hey, make sure your partner is there. She needs to hear this info, too."_

_Once again, Deeks feels that rush of suspicion and worry go through him. Considering what Sanchez thinks of women in general and Kensi in specific, it's hard to imagine why he would want her there. A quick look at his partner tells him, however, that she no intention of backing out over this._

_After spending the last four weeks in the rear with the gear so to speak, Kensi Blye is ready to be up front with the action. Especially after last night._

"_You better not be screwing around, Sanchez."_

"_Don't worry. This is worth it." And with that, he hangs up._

"_Why did you change locations?" she asks._

"_Too many people at the Taco Bell. If this goes bad, I don't want anyone innocent caught in the crossfire."_

_She smiles at him with such warmth that it's almost too much. In his life and in his career, folks have tended to humor him like they would a small child. Very few people have ever bothered to look beneath the surface. She does._

"_Let's get going," he stammers, trying to cover up his sudden nervousness._

"_Wait. Should we alert Ops, get some backup ready?" she asks._

_He considers the option, then shakes his head in the negative. "Not yet. If his info is soft - and chances are it is - and we have SWAT and the rest of NCIS and the LAPD rushing in, we'll kill the operation dead on the spot. There's not enough spots for them to hide around there."_

"_So we go, hear him out, and then figure out our next move."_

_He nods. _

"_Going to be nice to do this together," she says._

_He smiles then because she's right, she's absolutely right._

* * *

He's pretty sure that he hasn't eaten in days. He's been given water a few times (or rather had it dripped into his mouth), but he hasn't so much as had a stale cracker since the day he and Kensi had been grabbed.

When his mind is reasonably clear (and those moments are becoming fewer and fewer), he understands exactly what's happening; he's being slowly and systematically broken down.

Physically and mentally tortured, starved and repeatedly drugged.

It's all pretty much text book.

And yet, to his surprise, when the door opens and Alejandro enters, he's carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a couple pieces of bread on it.

Deeks considers trying to attack Alejandro (he's still lying on his stomach on the bed, his hands and feet untied), but quickly realizes that it would get him nowhere; as strong as he'd like to think he is, his body is simply too hurt to be able to put up a realistic escape attempt.

Which means that his options have dwindled down to two: wait to be rescued or play along with Kassel until a better opportunity for escape presents itself.

There's the third option, of course, which is death, but right now even Kassel doesn't seem to be all that interested in that one.

Which means it's wait or play along.

He's not yet ready to sell his soul so wait it has to be.

"Thanks," he says to Alejandro. The man just grunts, and then leaves.

Deeks moves himself to the ground, wincing as a few of the cuts on his back split open, blood spilling out. He reaches for the bowl of soup, drinks the chicken broth down immediately, and then greedily consumes the bread.

He has a moment of wondering if the food is drugged, but then pushes it away. Even if it is, so what? Kassel has been keeping him looped up on heroin since day one. What does it matter if there's something in the food?

Once finished with the soup and bread, his belly feeling suddenly tight and painful, he gingerly crawls onto to the bed. Lying back on his stomach, realizing what he's been reduced to in such a short amount of time, he almost wants to cry.

_Oh Kensi, if you could see me now, Partner._

* * *

_They reach the rotted out dock in Pasadena within twenty minutes, and immediately, Deeks knows that something is wrong._

_It's nothing specific, really, it's just a feeling in his gut. One look at Kensi tells him that she's feeling it, too._

_He almost asks her if maybe they shouldn't just turn around and walk away. Before he can, though, he hears the sound of shuffling sand, and he turns to see Sanchez walking towards them, Alejandro right next to him._

"_Detective Deeks, Agent Blye," Sanchez says with a smirk._

"_Why are we here, Paul? And what's he doing here?"_

"_I told you, I have information."_

"_Then talk," Kensi says._

_His eyes snap to her, and this time, he's not looking at her with just lust, but something much darker, almost like hatred and disgust. "Be quiet."_

_Deeks starts to take a step forward, but Kensi puts her arm out. "If you're just going to waste our time…"_

"_Didn't know you were the type to let your woman speak for you, Deeks," Paul laughs. It occurs to both Deeks and Kensi that the former soldier seems to be holding himself with an almost crazed kind of confidence._

_The kind you get when you have nothing left to lose._

"_We're leaving," Deeks says suddenly._

"_Oh, no, no, I don't think so," Sanchez replies, shaking his head. "I told you I had information and I do. Guess what, kids? Game's up – Kassel knows."_

_Kensi and Deeks exchange a look of dread. At almost the same exact time, both are keenly aware of the absence of their guns._

"_He'd like to see you two."_

"_Pass," Kensi replies._

"_He wasn't asking. Nor am I."_

_Suddenly, Alejandro steps forward, right into Kensi. Before she has even a moment to react to his sudden closeness, she feels something hard being pressed into her stomach._

"_That's a gun you feel against you, Agent Blye," Sanchez grins. "Totally different kind of gun than you felt yesterday, huh? I must say, watching you and Kassel on the couch together, it's not something I'll ever forget."_

"_Fuck off," she snaps, anger raging through her. She feels the sting of tears in her eyes as humiliation washes over her._

_He laughs, then turns his attention back to Deeks. "Don't even think about coming to her rescue, Detective. You make one move and Alejandro here does what the boss was gonna have him do to you if she hadn't put out. Only this shot will leave her alive for a few minutes. Just long enough to let her bleed her out. That'll be fun to watch."_

"_Deeks," she says, and he's not completely sure if she's asking for help or telling him to back off. All he knows is that from where he's standing, it looks like if Alejandro fires his gun, there's no way Kensi survives it._

"_I'm taking it this means you blew our covers?" Deeks asks, turning his attention back to Sanchez. He's hoping that Kensi's asking him to buy time while she comes up with a plan. Right now, he'd take even one of her crazy ones. "Why?"_

"_You refused to listen when I told you over and over not to cross me. Even this morning, you kept thinking you were in control. You're not."_

"_Neither are you."_

"_Maybe not, but when today is over, I'll be alive and you two won't be."_

"_You really believe he's going to let you live if he finds out you turned on him?"_

"_He knows and here I am."_

"_You're an idiot," Deeks says, knowing full well that his words will piss Sanchez off, but again, he's just trying to buy time._

_To his surprise, Sanchez laughs. "We'll see who the idiot is. Now, the four of us are going to walk over to my car. We're going to get in, and then we're going to take a little ride. And don't even think about refusing because you know what, I don't care if your bitch partner lives or dies. I really don't."_

"_Okay," Deeks says. "Okay. I hear you. Just…relax the gun."_

"_When we're in the car."_

"_Deeks," she repeats, gasping as the gun is pressed harder into her gut. One look up and into Alejandro's eyes tells her that this guy would absolutely love to shoot her.  
_

"_We're going," he says as his eyes meet Kensi's. He's sure she's up to something; it's just not like her to allow herself to be taken without a fight. It was one thing when it was the Russians, he's pretty sure that in that case, she had expected to be saved from moment one (well, at least expected an attempt to save her anyway), but here, well he knows that if they get in the car with Sanchez and Alejandro, their chances for survival take a significant hit. _

_So considering all of that, he's not the least bit surprised by what Kensi does next. When Alejandro prods her to walk towards the car, she starts to move forward, and then suddenly she stops, plants a knee, and spins around, thrusting her fist right into Alejandro's mid-section. Only a quick jerk to the side by the thug saves him from taking Hetty's knife to the gut. Instead, it cuts weakly into his side, a painful but far from damaging strike._

_It's a stroke of hideously bad luck for them, and they both know it immediately._

_Before Kensi can jump out of the way, Alejandro grabs Kensi by the hair, and throws her to the ground. Deeks sees the purse that she had pulled the knife from go flying, bright beads catching the mid-morning sun. Alejando quickly follows up by kicking her right into the middle of the gut causing her to cry out in pain._

"_Kensi!" Deeks moves to try to help her, but stops when he feels a gun press into his back.  
_

"_Uh huh. Don't even think about it," Sanchez says smugly. "I can't possibly miss from here."_

_Knowing that Sanchez is right, Deeks can do little more than watch helplessly as Kensi tries to fend off several more hard kicks to the ribs. After about half a dozen kicks, she's curled tight into a ball, no longer fighting, mostly just trying to absorb the contact in the least painful way possible._

_Finally, Sanchez calls out, "That's enough. Get her up."_

_Alejandro stops, reaches down and grabs Kensi, pulling her to her feet. She struggles a bit, but her ability to fight is severely compromised by the fact that she's struggling to breathe._

"_Cuff her," Sanchez says as he tosses Alejandro cuffs. He does so, pulling Kensi's hands behind her, and tightening the metal bands a bit too tight. She winces in pain, but refuses to cry out._ "_Your turn, Deeks. Cuffs or I shoot her."_

_Deeks offers his hands, knowing damn well that he's pretty much signing his own death warrant by doing so. Sanchez quickly cuffs him from the front._

"_Let's go. Towards the car."_

_They reach Sanchez's car, and then both she and Deeks are thrown into the backseat. Sanchez and Alejandro get into the front. Deeks notices that the car is an old police cruiser, complete with the metal divider usually meant to protect cops from being attacked by suspects riding in the backseat. Which likely means that this is a cop car all the way down to the doors in the backseat that only open from the outside.._

_Which essentially means that they're trapped. Dammit._

"_You okay?" he asks her._

_She winces, and only replies with a curt nod. And then she does it again._

_It takes a third time for him to realize that she's trying to tell him something. She nods again, but he realizes that it's more like she's motioning towards something._

"_Phone," she mouths._

_His eyes widen slightly. He glances up towards the front, notices that Alejandro, who is driving, doesn't seem to be paying them much attention, but Sanchez keeps glancing back at them._

_Which means he's going to have to time this perfectly._

_He turns his head towards Kensi, his eyes sweeping over her. The jeans she's wearing are loose, which means that she's probably got her cell in her front pocket instead of her back one (he's glad that she rarely keeps her cell in her purse unless she's without pockets elsewhere since her purse is now lying discarded on the beach). He waits until Sanchez looks away again, and then slides towards her, moving both of his hands to her side. It takes a couple attempts (and some shifting on her part) but finally, they manage to work her cell out of her pocket. A fortunate bump in the road gives them the bounce they need to get the phone into her hands. He sees her tuck it beneath her palms._

_Which is perfect because as soon as she does, Sanchez glances back at her._

"_Mr. Kassel is really looking forward to seeing you again, Agent Blye," he says. "I think he was hoping for an encore. Maybe this time I'll get in on the action."_

"_Over my dead body," she snaps back._

"_I don't have a problem with that."_

"_You know he's going to kill you once he kills us, don't you?" Deeks asks him, intentionally forcing Sanchez's attention away from Kensi._

"_Not if I do what he needs me to do. And I am, right now."_

"_He's still going to kill you. Ask Alejandro there, he knows."_

"_Shut up," Sanchez growls. And then turns around and faces the road._

_Kensi and Deeks exchange a small smile._

_A moment later, he sees her moving slightly as she keys in the Agent In Distress code. Once, then twice._

* * *

Eric turns to face Hetty. "It appears that she sent the signal at eleven-twenty-two in the morning, but we didn't actually receive it until two-eighteen. It took another thirty minutes to triangulate, and thirty minutes after that for Sam and Callen to get to Kensi."

"Four hours," Hetty says softly."Far too long."

"I'm trying to find out what happened," Eric assures them. "But the chances are, whatever route they took Deeks and Kensi was up through the hills and her cell lost reception and wasn't able to properly relay the message."

It's not a good answer, it's certainly not a satisfactory answer, but it's the only one he has for now.

"Keep researching, Eric," Hetty says softly. She turns her attention back to the LCD, watching as Sam and Callen pace around Sanchez.

"I saw the file," Eric says suddenly, his voice small.

"The file?"

"Kensi's medical file. The doctor…it was sent over. I didn't mean to…"

"Ah." She knows that she could chastise him for looking at information that wasn't meant for his viewing, but the shock she sees in his eyes stops her.

"She'll be okay, right?"

"She already is, Mr. Beale."

"And Deeks? Do you really think he's still alive?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Not the answer I was hoping to get," he admits.

"Not the answer I was hoping to give," she responds. They hold each others eyes for a moment, and then both turn back to the LCD.

Neither of them wants to hear what they're about to.

Both know they must.

And when they do, it's so much worse than they ever could have imagined.

**TBC…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note - once again, thanks for the kind words. Please continue letting me know what you think.**

**Of note, all typos and weird syntax errors are mine, the characters (aside from the horrible bad guys) are not. Please be forewarned that this chapter involves severe violence, crude language and a brief non-graphic sexual situation. **

* * *

"This is the part," Kensi says softly, her voice cracking just a bit (whether from stress, pain, exhaustion, a mixture of all or something else entirely, he's not completely sure). "When everything starts to get a bit weird for me."

"I know," Nate replies, compassion in his tone. It's almost too much for her, though, because she can't help but see it as pity. And God how she hates pity.

"No, you don't. It's….I don't know." She shakes her head, and when she does, the room goes hazy and gray for a few seconds.

"Kensi," Nate prompts, when she's been quiet for too long. She seems a bit unfocused, and for a long moment, as he waits for her to return to her senses, he considers getting a doctor.

Reluctantly, though, he pushes away the idea for the time being. He's seen the full medical reports; he knows that among many injuries, her worst by far is the severe head injury that she'd suffered. He knows that everyone is still very worried about it, but he also knows that time for Deeks is likely running out, which means that every bit of info that Kensi can provide is crucial right now.

"I can remember bits and pieces," she finally continues, blinking several times as if to clear up her vision. There's a strange almost lazy sounding kind of drawl to her voice. "But even those feel like I'm watching them through a pane of glass."

"Just go slow, Kensi," he urges, wishing like hell that he could just get up, blow off the questioning and find her someone to make her feel better. He knows better, though. So, instead, "I'll be here every step of the way."

She laughs.

He tilts his head slightly, surprised by her reaction. "What?"

"It's just…people always say that, you know. They say that they'll always be there, that they'll never go away. They even promise it. They say 'you can count on me, don't worry, I won't leave, and if I do, I'll always come back for you.' But we know the truth, don't we, Nate? We know what this life is like. It'll take all of us eventually." She looks up at him with sadness in her eyes. "Even you."

"Me?"

"You. Hetty pulled you into the life. Now you're part of it. Before that, you were safe, and we all got some peace out of knowing that. Now, everything's different. Now, we all think the same thing we think about each other; one morning we're going to get a call saying that you died on a table last night in some God forsaken town in the Middle East or maybe in a warehouse or…"

"Stop," he pleads, and neither of them are completely sure if he's asking her to stop because he hates seeing her in this kind of mental torment or because her words are striking just a bit too close to home for him.

"Why? We both know it's the truth. And I almost did. Die in a warehouse, I mean. Can you believe that?" She laughs bitterly. "Last thing I ever wanted. I always figured that when I go out, it's going to be on my feet, and because some son of a bitch gets a lucky shot in. I always hoped that I'd die fighting. But that's not how it almost went. Nate, I almost died of a heroin overdose on the floor of a place that used to be a porn studio."

"Kensi, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Doing what?"

"Talking about death like this. Acting like it's okay if you die. For all the fear you have about getting the call about someone else, you must know that everyone else has the same fear about you."

"I do," she replies. "I just…he can't..."

Nate reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it tight. "We're almost through this," he tells her.

"And when we're done, when you guys know every part of this awful story, will that make it easier to find him?"

"It might."

She smiles then and laughs. "You know I'm still not going to tell you what happened in the bathroom, right?"

She'd expected him to respond in kind with a smile and a chuckle (anything to lighten the suddenly darkly oppressive mood in the room), but he doesn't. Instead, his voice very serious, Nate replies, "But I'm here if you want to."

"Sure. Until you leave again in a few days."

"I'm sorry," he says, and she can see just how much he truly is in his eyes. He doesn't want to be leaving anymore than she wants him to be. "I'm so sorry. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here with you, helping you through this. I hope you know that. I hope you believe me."

"Nate, that's not…that's not what I meant. Of course, I believe you. I know you don't want to go and I know you have a job to do. It's just…I'm feeling a bit out of sorts right now, and I guess it's making me needy. I hate this. I hate it. I hate it."

"I know, and if I thought telling you that it's okay to be needy from time to time would actually help you realize that what you're feeling isn't unusual and doesn't make you at all weak, then I'd give it a go, but since you're still the same Kensi that you've always been, I'm probably wasting my time, huh?"

"Subtle, Nate."

He smirks. Then, his expression growing somber, "You think you're ready now?"

"I suppose I'd better be."

"We're almost done," he assures her. "Then you can rest."

"Just as long as I wake up," she whispers, and for the brief moment before she closes her eyes to stop tears from leaking from them, he sees fear there.

"You will. You're safe, and you're going to be okay." He squeezes her hand.

"I wish I could take comfort in that, but as long as he's out there…"

"I know."

She smiles at him, a bit sadly. "I'm really going to miss you when you leave."

"I'll miss you, too."

She takes a deep breath, adjusting herself slightly, wincing in pain as she does so. "You know what I remember most about the trip to the warehouse? It seems like it took forever to get there. It was just across town, but they took us on this weird route up through the canyons. I think maybe they knew that my ribs were hurting and they wanted to make it worse. They did."

* * *

_She __almost gasps as the car hits another massive rock in the road, causing the vehicle to tilt and then jump again. She feels a sharp burst of pain shoot like a rocket through her ribcage. It takes everything she has – including biting her lip – to keep from crying out. Aside from prideful reasons, she needn't have bothered; Sanchez gets his sickly perverse satisfaction anyway._

"_Your girl looks like she's about to pass out, Deeks," Sanchez taunts from his position in the front seat. "And here I thought she was tougher than that."_

_Before Deeks can reply, Kensi – stubborn as always and not about to ever back down to a piece of garbage like Paul Sanchez – grits out, "I'm good to go."_

_She'd been about to say, "I'm fine", but had decided against it simply because Deeks seems to believe that those words are code for the exact opposite. In this case, he'd be right, but she's not about to let anybody know that._

_Sanchez laughs, "She is a feisty one, isn't __she?" Then, his face grows very angry, and he continues, his voice suddenly hard, "I don't like feisty women who don't know where they belong, and whom they belong to."_

"_I don't belong to anyone," she snaps back, teeth clenched tightly as another wave of pain crashes through her. She doesn't think any of her ribs are completely broken, but there's a possibility that at least one is cracked. And dammit if cracked doesn't hurt just as much as broken when you get down to it._

"_Funny, your boyfriend over there made it pretty fucking clear to me on more than one occasion that you belong to him, didn't you, Deeks?"_

"_We're not playing your games," Deeks replies, glancing over to Kensi. He's met not by an expected look of irritation, but rather a weary sort of half-smile on her face. Almost like even though it kind of annoys her what he'd told Sanchez about them, she hadn't expected any different._

"_That's fine. You do__n't have to play my games, but you will play his. She already has," Sanchez says, smirking as he lets his eyes sweep lewdly over Kensi's frame. To her credit, she doesn't so much as shift an inch beneath his perverse gaze, she just stares right back at him. To Deeks, Sanchez finally says, his voice dripping with anger and hatred, "Now it's your turn."_

_At that moment, the car __skids and hops again, and this time, she's unable to stop herself from hissing in pain. She inhales sharply, trying to focus her breathing. _

_She__ puts her head down, and tries to ignore the fact that both Deeks and Sanchez are watching her again, albeit clearly for entirely different reasons. _

"_That hurt?" Sanchez asks, sounding almost curious._

"_Not as much as you're going to hurt when I get loose long enough to rip off your balls and shove them down your throat," she shoots back between tightly clenched teeth._

_At that moment, the car comes to a stop. She glances out the window, and sees that they're parked in front of a massive warehouse. It matches the description of the one that Deeks has visited several times. She looks at him, and he nods, confirming her worst fears; they've been brought right to Kassel's playhouse._

_As if knowing exactly what she's thinking, Sanchez says, "You ain't never gonna have the chance, bitch. We're here. I hope you're ready to die."_

* * *

_They're __yanked out of the car and then shoved – still cuffed and at gunpoint - down the long hallway that Deeks has walked several times over the last few weeks. He's not at all surprised when they're forced into the weird room that best resembles a whips and chain style porn dungeon. _

_He exchanges a wary look with Kensi – both of them realizing that if they allow themselves to get chained to the wall by Alejandro (they're not terribly sure where Sanchez disappeared off to – probably to get Kassel, Deeks figures), they're not making it out of this building alive. _

_Deeks__ offers her a sad smile. She returns a smirk. He almost laughs. And then he says a silent prayer of thanks to whatever God is listening for her stubborn refusal to ever give up no matter how long the odds stacked against her are._

_The moment Alejandro uncuffs her hands__ (ironically so that he can chain her to the wall), she makes her move. A hard elbow into his side, a foot to the groin and then a left to the jaw. It all happens so quickly, almost in a blur of insane motion._

_It occurs to Deeks that this is the second time today that Kensi has brought Alejandro to his knees. For a moment, he considers reminding the downed thug of that fact, but a quick look around the room reminds him of the dire nature of the situation that they're in. That and the fact that he's still cuffed. _

_Thankfully, Kensi plans to take care of that problem right away. Once Alejandro is down on the ground, curled in the fetal position and whimpering in pain, s__he's up and in front of Deeks within seconds, her nimble fingers working on his cuffs, using a paperclip that she'd had attached to the inside of her watch band._

"_That was amazing," he says, his voice full of awe. "You are…amazing."_

"_Thank you," she smiles__, returning the open affection. Then, growing serious, "But save it until we're out of here."_

"_Right. I figure we got a lot to talk about then," he nods._

_She laughs. "Seriously, Deeks? We're trying to escape an insane kingpin who probably wants to skin us alive and you want to talk about last night?"_

"_We're going to have deal with everything that's happened is all I'm saying." He tries to keep his voice light and a bit flip, but there's an undercurrent of raw honesty in his tone. He's not just talking about last night. He's talking about today, yesterday and the last several weeks. Everything. All of it._

"_I think I prefer never serious Deeks," she quips as she releases his cuffs._

"_No, you don't," he replies, dropping the cuffs to the ground. Then, looking at the paperclip she's still holding between her fingers. "Let me guess, tradecraft?"_

"_Yup. Never go anywhere without it. __Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get the hell out of here. This mission is officially over."_

"_On that, Partner, you and I are in full agreement."_

"_About damn time," she replies, turning away from him._

"_Kensi!" he calls out, just before she feels the impact of a gun right to the face. The hard barrel of it clips off the right side of her jaw, the metal splicing into her skin, but thankfully, not cracking the bone. _

_She cries out, and__ falls immediately to her knees, feeling the burn of her ribs as she does so. Thus far, this has not been one of her better days._

"_I like you there," Sanchez leers. "On your knees. Where you belong."_

_She tries to lift her head, determined not to allow him to think that he's beaten her down, but the blood spilling down her cheek, and the nausea that sweeps through her keeps her hunched over on the ground. _

_A moment later, she feels hands around her, then strong muscular arms, and immediately, she knows that Deeks is next to her, holding her._

_It's incredibly intimate kind of half-embrace, and yet it doesn't feel at all wrong for them at this moment in time. Certainly, a strange realization for both of them._

"_Marty," she whispers. It just about breaks his heart. This is only the second time since he's known her that she's called him that; the first time had occurred the night before, and that had been during an extreme moment of emotion for her._

_For both of them really._

_That's she doing it now? It tells him everything he needs to know about just how bad their current situation is. _

"_I'm here," he tells her, tightening his hold around her. He intends to have to be yanked away from her. Ideally with obscene and possibly even deadly force._

"_I'll be damned__," a cold voice says from behind Sanchez. "Paul was actually right, you two kids are not only cops, but you're also a couple. Fascinating."_

_Gathering all of her remaining strength together, __Kensi forces herself to look up and into the eyes of Christopher Kassel. He's in the doorway of the room, dressed in tan slacks and a white dress shirt, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking almost like he's just come back from a country club outing._

"_Jimmy," he says, looking at Deeks. "Or I guess your real name is supposedly Detective Marty Deeks. Disappointing, very disappointing, son."_

"_Yeah, well, get in line," Deeks replies, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "The disappointment train for me is very long."_

"_Oh, no, don't worry about that, Detective, there's no more lines for you."_

"_Why? Because you're going to kill us today?"_

_Kassel's only response is a soft chuckle. He looks down at Alejandro. "Get up and stop whining like a woman on the ground." His eyes flicker over towards Kensi when he says that. Again, she stares back at him, anger flushing her face._

_Slowly, the big thug stands up, a bruise already blossoming on his face. "Sorry, Boss," he mutters even as he winces in pain, his groin clearly still hurting._

"_Save it for later. For now, please chain Agent Blye up," Kassel says simply. "Paul, I think you're going to need to restrain the Detective. I don't believe he's going to allow us to get to her." He seems almost amused by this._

_Both men move immediately to respond to Kassel's orders. Sanchez gets behind Deeks and yanks at his arms. For a brief moment, Deeks just holds on to Kensi as tight as he can, knowing that if he fights back even a little bit, it will force him to have to let go of her. His resistance is short-lived and futile, though, because standing up, Sanchez has far more leverage and force than he does. _

_He feels himself get yanked away from her__, and it feels a bit like a vital organ is being ripped out of his chest. He cries out for her, his voice breaking._

"_Deeks," she calls back as Alejandro pulls her to her feet. She struggles against him, but he's much bigger and he's holding her in a way that doesn't expose his soft and vulnerable spots to her. That and the pain from her ribs and her jaw is still intense, causing her to feel as though she's grappling for solid ground._

_The next thing she feels is her back slam up against the wall, and while she's trying to shake the sudden stars away, she feels thick icy cold metal cuffs get snapped around her wrists. Alejandro leaves her feet unbound, but she realizes almost immediately that there's very little to gain from that._

_Yes, she could probably knock __one of them clean out with a swift hard kick, maybe even shatter a bone or two, but then what? Thanks to the fact that she'd lost possession of the paperclip on her tumble to the ground after being slugged by Sanchez, she has nothing immediately available to her to be able to pick the lock, and with all of the mob guys nearby, it's not like she'd be given the opportunity to do so anyway._

_So instead, she watches in mute horror as Deeks and Sanchez fight, Deeks holding his own until a gun is pressed against the back of his head._

"_Just stop," Kassel says. "No more struggling or I'll turn this gun around and shoot your partner right in the hip. You think that'll hurt, Detective? Because I'm pretty damn sure that it will."_

"_Deeks," she pleads, and for the second time that day, he's not sure if she's asking him to start or stop doing something. Either way, he simply, quite numbly, holds up his hands in surrender._

_He's as certain as he's ever been in his life that this means the end for both of them, but on the possibility that the team had received the Agent in Distress alert that she'd sent out (then hiding the phone away – and still powered on - in the back pocket of her jeans), he decides to give them – give her – at least a fighting chance to survive. _

_Just stay alive long enough for the Calvary, that has to be the goal going forward._

_A moment later, when Sanchez buries a fist into his gut, he's rethinking his decision. Three more hard hits, and he's down on his knees. He hears Kensi call out for him again, but for the moment, all he feels is the agony of the beating. Fists and feet connect with him, driving him even closer to the ground._

_Once he's __down, practically lying flat, he feels Sanchez lean over him, coming close enough for him to be able to taste the tobacco on his breath. "How you liking your situation now, Detective? How do you like your power now?"_

"_How do you like yours?" Deeks answers as he spits out a mouthful of blood. "Nothing but a little bitch."_

_His words are rewarded with a hard punch directly to the face. "Yeah? Call me a bitch again. Come on. I'll show you who the real bitch is."_

"_Deeks," Kensi urges, and this time he's certain that she's telling him to stop. It's ironic really because he's usually the one telling her not to throw back so much attitude when the bad guys are already pissed off._

"_Listen to your woman, Deeks, she wants to keep you pretty," Sanchez says before adding, "Shame I don't care." And then with a hard downward thrust, he slams his elbow against the back of Deeks' skull. He feels a burst of bright white pain, but thankfully (or maybe not, he muses), manages to stay conscious. _

"_Enough, Paul," Kassel says. Put him next to Agent Blye."_

_Reluctant__ly, Sanchez reaches down, grabs Deeks by the collar and pulls him up. He slams him against the wall next to Kensi and clamps the cuffs down. "No more fight in you, huh, Deeks?"_

"_Just give me a minute to catch my breath," Deeks gasps out, still trying to blink away the pain. He can tell that Kensi is looking at him, her eyes full of concern. _

_Sanchez just laughs and walks back over to where Kassel and Alejandro are._

"_So now what?" Kensi asks._

"_Now I get to kill you," Sanchez sneers. "Slowly."_

"_That's a really bad idea," Deeks __says suddenly, his voice oddly high. "I mean, these two are idiots, but Kassel, you must know that killing a Federal agent is the kind of attention you don't want."_

"_Are you bartering for her life, Detective?" Kassel queries._

"_Yes," he says immediately, ignoring the hard glare that she throws his way. He thinks back to a time not too far in the past, another time when he'd try to convince maniacs to let his partner go. _

_That time had ended with her nearly __being blown to pieces inside a room full of lasers. He's understandably hoping for a bit less drama this time._

_No near-death experiences preferred._

"_And tell me, what are you offering?"_

"_Just myself. Let her go, and make me pay. I'm the one who betrayed you."_

"_True."_

"_Deeks, shut up."_

_He ignores her, eyes on Kassel. "I'm just a cop – no one will care if I live or die. No one cares now. But she's a Fed. You hurt her, you kill her, and they will come after you with the full force of every ABC agency there is. You know they will. Let her go, and do what you want with me."_

"_Deeks, no," she hisses._

"_I don't think your woman likes that idea," Kassel notes with amusement. _

"_Who cares what she thinks. She's just a woman," Deeks insists, his words nearly falling over each other. His plan is simply if inelegant; he's trying to play off what he's learned about Kassel over the last four weeks, trying to use the knowledge of the man as a misogynistic bastard who thinks of women as little more than possessions and sexual toys._

_He's wasting his time._

"_I think you're wrong, Detective," Kassel states. "Your partner…" he steps close to her, and places a hand on her cheek, grinning when she pulls her face away from him. "…she's far more interesting than most women. But then, I think you already know that, don't you?"_

_In that moment, Deeks almost wants to curse the very thing that he adores about Kensi the most; that there's no other woman in the world quite like her. Apparently, Kassel has noticed it as well – which is very bad luck for them._

"_She puts up a good front," he says, and now he's pretty much desperate. "But in the end, she's just like every woman. Vapid, silly, and far too into shoes and makeup and hair and…"_

"_Deeks," she says once again._

_He ignores her, on a collision course to get her the hell out of here or to fail miserably. They both know which one is going to happen, but it's almost like he can't stop himself from throwing up last frantic Hail Mary pass on her behalf._

"_I'm just saying, if you think you'll get some kind of satisfaction out of breaking her, you're wrong. She'll fold almost immediately. And then they'll come for you because that's what the Feds do – they always protect their own, especially the weak ones…the women. You don't want that attention. You don't."_

_Kassel chuckles, then reaches out and grabs Kensi's face, roughly forcing her to look at him. "Tell me, my dear sweet girl, is he right? Are you that weak?"_

"_Fuck you," she snaps back, eyes blazing even as she feels the pain of his fingers pressing against her now swollen jaw._

"_That's what I thought."_

_She turns her head slightly, and stares at her partner. He looks crushed by her inability to play along if only for a minute._

_It annoys the shit out of her that he would ever think that she'd be okay with just walking away and allowing him to be tortured in her place._

_It'd annoyed her with the Russians, and it really annoys her now. Does he really think that she could just go back to her life and not care what happens to him? Does he really believe that he means that little to her? Does he really not understand that he's as much a part of her now as she is of him?_

_He shakes his head slightly, clearly frustrated. She just glares at him._

"_Oh, no, this doesn't look good at all for you two lovers," Kassel says. "And I'm afraid what's going to happen here isn't really going to help you out with the relationship problems you're clearly having. But before we get to that part - what I like to call the fun and games - I have a few questions for you. For starters, what was the point of your mission? Was I the target? Unfortunately, Paul here was a bit on unclear on the finer details. Fill them in for me if you would be so kind."_

_Neither Deeks nor Kensi says a word._

"_Ah, the stubborn resistant law enforcement routine. I know this one well. Believe me, you two are hardly the first cops that I've come across and had to torture information out of. Though, I must admit, you're the first ones who were ever sent in after me. At least specifically. I suppose I should take that as a compliment."_

_Again, they both stay silent. _

"_Okay. Good, I was hoping you'd make it interesting. I presume you both know what pressure points are, yes?" He waits only a moment for a response that he knows he won't be getting, and then follows up with, "For the sake of our discussion today, let's view pressure points in a way that basically means, what would it take to get you two talking."_

"_You're wasting your time," Kensi says, her voice much calmer than she feels. "There isn't anything."_

"_Oh now, I don't believe that at all. See here's the thing, I could torture both of you, break every bone in your bodies, remove fingers, cut off limbs and basically disembowel you for my own viewing pleasure," Kassel notes in the same tone that one would use to order lunch from a fast food restaurant. "But, I suspect that both of you know how to withstand torture, and you're both stubborn enough to be able to do so for quite awhile. Which while certainly entertaining for me in the beginning, could get old – and messy - very quickly."_

"_Sorry to be such a pain in the ass," Deeks quips. He can feel an odd sort of calm coming over him, one he recognizes as resignation. Which means that his jokes are about to become of the gallows humor kind – unrelentingly dry and painful._

_Kassel chuckles, but presses on. It's amazing how __relaxed he seems, like he has no doubt that he's in complete control and that nobody can stop him. _

_He's probably right._

"_Which brings us to the more important question, which is quite simply, what could I do to each of you to get your partner talking. I suspect that the pressure point for you, Detective is fairly obvious – rape."_

_Deeks can't help himself from shifting anxiously. He's simply not built to be able to not react to the idea of his partner – or any woman for that matter – being sexually assaulted by a sadistic maniac._

"_Tell me, did it upset you to find out what she and I did last night?"_

"_Deeks," she whispers, as if urging him not to take the bait.__ It occurs to that aside from a single crude retort to Kassel, his name is just about the only thing she's said within the last fifteen minutes._

"_Did you touch her after I did? Did you hold her in bed last night? The whole time you were with her, were you wondering what I'd done to her, where my hands had been?" Kassel presses, clearly enjoying the discomfort he sees in both Kensi and Deeks. It's clear to him that he's found a button to push._

"_I'm going to kill you," Deeks says simply, his voice hard as steel. It's almost chilling to Kensi; in their entire time working together, she can only recall him using that voice one other time – with the son of a bitch cop who had been responsible for the murder of his last partner, Jess Traynor._

"_And if right now, I had Paul here__ take her down from the wall, and I let him and Alejandro have their way with her, what would that do to you? Would it make you tell me everything I want to know to make it stop. I think it would."_

"_You'd be wrong," Kensi says sharply. "Because he knows I could handle it."_

"_Really? Should we test that theory then?"_

"_Go ahead," she challenges. She can tell that Deeks is looking at her, his expression one of mingled horror and shock. He has no idea what the hell she's up to, but he doesn't like it one bit._

_Mostly because she's wrong, he couldn't just stand by and let her be assaulted by these animals. He couldn't let that happen to any woman, but especially not her. She means too much to him, and he has no intention of allowing her to be hurt if he can stop it._

_He knows that makes him vulnerable, and maybe even weak, but right now, he doesn't give a damn. _

"_As you wish, my dear," Kassel nods. "Alejandro, bring her down. Make sure you put her right in front of Detective Deeks – I want him to see everything you do to his beloved. I want him to hear every single time she whimpers or cries out."_

_Kensi swallows hard, steeling herself. Her fists clench, and she prepares herself to try to attack Alejandro the moment the thug uncuffs her._

_Fighting back is all she has left. If she loses that, then she might as well just give in. And Kensi Blye never gives in. So prepare herself she does. She's ready to strike, ready to cause pain, even if only briefly._

_Her opportunity doesn't come._

_At least not yet._

_At that moment, a tall man that they've never seen before enters the room and motions for the others. He then steps outside the door, indicating that they should follow him out._

"_Hold that thought, love," Kassel says smoothly. "We'll be right back."_

_They step out and into the hallway. The moment they're gone, Deeks snaps his head around towards her, blue eyes fiery with anger._

"_What the fuck are you doing?" he demands, his voice trembling with barely repressed emotion. _

"_I can deal with this."_

"_I can't. Dammit, Kensi…"_

"_Deeks, you have to be brave here."_

"_Are you…are you kidding me? This isn't about bravery."_

"_No, it's about me, and that's a problem. For both of us."_

"_What do you want me to do here? Just let them hurt you?"_

"_Yes."_

_He stares at her with wide unbelieving eyes. "No…"_

"_We have a job to do," she insists._

"_I don't give a damn about our job. I give a damn about you."_

"_No…no…you have to. You have…you have to be able to let me get hurt when the op demands it or we have no business being partners."_

"_That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."_

"_Maybe, but it's what I need you to be right now – my partner, not my friend."_

_He laughs angrily, thinking about how much more than either partners or friends they are. "Even if I was just your partner, I wouldn't be able to stand here and let those…monsters do what they…I can't, Kensi, and I kind of hate that you would ever think I could."_

"_I'm sorry," she whispers, and he thinks maybe he sees wetness in her dark eyes. It reminds him of what he'd forgotten for just a moment; even as tough as she is, she's got to be scared out of mind right about now._

_Because she has a pretty damned good idea what's going to happen to her when Kassel and his goons re-enter the room, and it's clear to Deeks that she doesn't really believe that she'll be able to fight them off._

_Which means that she's operating under the same assumption he is, which is quite plainly that their only hope for survival now is to be rescued by the team._

_They just have to live long enough for that to happen. Which means enduring any and every pain they have to in order to ensure that the clocks keeps ticking._

"_What does it hurt to tell them who we're after?" Deeks asks, looking for an alternative to the torture path they seem to be on._

"_Because that's not what we do. We don't break," she insists. "I don't break." He sees a tear spill down her cheek, and it just about destroys him._

_In that moment, he knows for certain that he'll tell Kassel and his men whatever the hell they want if it means that they'll keep their filthy hands off of her. He doesn't give a damn about bravery, he only cares about her._

_Perhaps__ that means that when this is all over, they'll have to face the fact that maybe they're too close now, and they'll have to end their partnership. _

_The idea guts him, but the thought of those men touching her and him just allowing it in order to keep Kassel from knowing that this case is really all about getting to his suppliers – something he figures even an egomaniac like Kassel should have already figured out for himself – hurts him in a way that he'd never believed__ humanly possible until this moment._

"_Sorry about that," Kassel says, re-entering the room. "Just a small problem came up on one of our surveillance sensors.__ Nothing to worry about. At least it won't be in a moment."_

_And then he sweeps across the room, slams Kensi back against the wall and punches her. Once, twice, a third time._

_Pain explodes in her face. From what sounds like a horrible distance, she thinks she can hear Deeks screaming her name. _

_She barely even notices that Kassel has uncuffed her. Released from the restraints, she falls to her knees, head down, blood flowing down her cheeks, and onto her shirt. The pressure in her face is massive, and even trying to lift her head up is enough to make her almost vomit._

_It occurs to her that this is the second time since she's been in this awful room that she's been on the ground, hunched over in pain. She's getting just a little bit sick and tired of it by now._

"_Get your hands off of her!" Deeks yells when he sees Kassel grab Kensi around the waist. He'd been expecting an attack, but not one by Kassel – this seems too barbaric for a man who seems to think he's above everyone else._

_No, this man likes to hide his disgusting attacks behind the mask of it being a semi-consensual act. Down and dirty rape hardly seems to be his MO._

_A moment later, Deeks understands what's going on, and it causes his stomach to lurch even more than it would have if this had just been a simple sexual attack._

_He sees Kassel reach behind Kensi and jam his hand into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her cell phone, which is still on and still (hopefully) transmitting a GPS signal back to headquarters, back to Eric._

"_Clever girl," he says, holding up the phone. He looks at it, punches the disconnect button, "Letting your team know that you need help." He tosses the cell to Sanchez, who is in the doorway with Alejandro. "Destroy it."_

"_With pleasure." Sanchez tosses the cell to the ground, and then slams his boot down into it, shattering the glass screen and cracking the aluminum casing. One more stomp and it snaps nearly in half._

"_Looks like our timelines have changed," Kassel muses, his hand on Kensi's back. "So I'm afraid, the foreplay part of the evening is going to have to be cut short. That's a shame, I was really looking forward to finding out what I would have to do to the good Detective to get Agent Blye talking."  
_

"_You'd never have found out," she bites out, still unable to lift her head, but unwilling to let Kassel think he's beaten her down. Completely anyway._

"_She just doesn't know when to quit, does she?" Kassel laughs, looking up at Deeks, who is still attached to the wall, his eyes wide and angry and fearful._

"_No, she doesn't," Deeks replies, his eyes shooting furious laser beams at her. He wants to desperately to tell her to just shut up for a moment (as she had told him earlier). He wants to tell her to stop being so strong and stubborn and brave. Stop having to prove to the whole world that no one is as tough or as resilient. _

_He says none of that, though, because somehow it feels like telling her to be someone she isn't - for whatever reason - would be a horrible betrayal of her. _

"_It's a shame that you're on the side you're on, Agent Blye. You and I might have had a lot of fun with each other."_

_She chooses that moment to again lift her head. Only a sharp look from Deeks keeps her from shooting back what she'd really love to do to Kassel right about now. Instead, she simply stares at him._

_Kassel__ smirks, and then turns to Sanchez, "Remove her from the room."_

"_No!" Deeks yells._

_For her part, Kensi struggles mightily, but she's simply too hurt by now, and Sanchez is too strong. He reaches down, grabs her by the shirt and starts to drag her from the room. She tries to put her feet down (realizing how desperately she misses her heavy boots right about now) to stop his progress. She tries to thrash around, but that just makes him pull harder_

_She hears the fabric of her shirt tear, brisk air and cold ground slapping against her suddenly bare skin. "Deeks!"_

"_Boyfriend can't help you anymore, bitch," Sanchez laughs before he reaches down, takes a handful of her hair and yanks._

_It's one of most painful things she's ever felt – it's like her scalp is literally being ripped out. She screams, her hands clawing at the ground as she's dragged out of the room, down a short hallway and then into a ghastly room of mirrors._

* * *

Callen drops himself down into the chair opposite Sanchez. It's been a horribly long day, and it's becoming harder and harder to keep the former soldier talking. He's in pain and exhausted, and any fun that he was having by telling them about what he'd done to Kensi and Deeks is long gone by now.

Everyone in the room just wants the conversation over.

"Okay, so Agent Blye was brought into the room with the mirrors. Deeks was left in the other one, right?"

Sanchez nods, and reaches for a glass of water, gulping it down in three swallows. He's already gone through at least a pitcher of water.

"Why were they separated?" Sam queries from his position against the far wall of the room. He's pretty sure that if he comes any closer, he'll tear Sanchez limb from limb, and he's not positive that Callen will stop him.

"Boss always had other plans for the good Detective, I think."

"What kind of plans?" Callen asks.

Sanchez shrugs. "No idea. Last I saw, the Kassel was just keeping him all doped up on the Prince Charming. Not really sure why. I'm not exactly in the inside circle anymore thanks to you guys."

Sam snorts derisively. "What about Kensi?"

"Kassel really wanted to do her bad. And I don't mean do her like that anymore. He wanted to break her in half and make her beg for her life."

Behind him, Callen hears Sam shift angrily, his well-muscled body tensing.

"But that didn't happen did it?"

"Nah, would have been better for her if it had. He probably would have hurt her less. All she had to do was beg once, say the word 'please', you know? But she wouldn't. Kassel was right; dumb bitch really doesn't know when to quit. And he made her pay for that. You know, I almost felt sorry for her." He shrugs then and a cruel smile ghosts over his lips. "Almost."

"Pick up from the room with the mirrors," Callen demands.

"You really want to hear all the nasty little details of that? You really want to know how he bashed in her head and how she bled all over the place? That's what you want? All right. Fine by me."

* * *

_Sanchez just about throws her into the room. She lands on her stomach, her entire body in agony. For a long moment, she forgets where she is, and that she's being watched. She puts her head in her hands, and tries to collect herself, tries to pull herself together. _

"_Go watch the cop," Kassel says as he enters the room._

_Sanchez hesitates for just a second, and then turns and leaves. Alejandro stays in the doorway, watching, his face twisted into a cruel smile._

"_I must admit," Kassel says, coming over to her. "You two – you and Detective Deeks – well you actually fooled me. You two put on one hell of a show. You especially." He reaches out and touches her face, softly like a lover would. When she tries to pull away, he laughs. "Now, now, Kara…Agent Blye…Kensi. I presume I can call you that after all we've…shared."_

_She looks up at him, her dark eyes amazingly aware, and then suddenly, in a move he never would have seen coming, she spits at him._

_His face registers surprise – she's guessing that no woman has ever dared to do that to him before. And then he laughs, a horrible sound. A moment later, she feels the force of his hand against her face. It cracks against her already horribly swollen jaw, throwing her towards the shadowy edge of unconsciousness. Only her force of will alone keeps her from blacking out._

_She falls to her side, a hand on her face. From the ground, she looks around the room, her eyes taking in the macabre mirrors that are on every wall. _

_Kassel kneels down next to her. "Tell me, Kensi, my sweet little toy. Did you and your partner have time to say goodbye to each other. For your sake, I hope you did." Then he turns to Alejandro and with a smile says, "Do it."_

_Alejandro nods, and exits the room, walking down the hallway and into the room where Sanchez is with Deeks. She hears the sound of something being hit, then she hears Deeks cry out. _

_And then she hears gunshots. Two of them._

"_Deeks!" she screams, tears flowing down her cheeks. _

"_I think we can both agree now that actions have consequences, Agent Blye."_

_She looks back at him, horrified, and wondering how a man this evil can actually exist. She shakes her head, trying to will words out, but finding none that can properly address the pain and anger and sadness she feels._

_So she does the only thing she knows how to do – she forces herself to her feet and attacks him. It's a bit like she's rabid – there's no sensible woman in the driver's seat. There's just a thousand furious emotions, the greatest of them hatred and heartbreak. She slams herself against him, throwing them both to the floor. And then she hits. And she hits. And she hits._

_She's pretty damn sure she would have killed him with her bare hands had it not been for Paul Sanchez. He grabs her from behind and pulls her off of Kassel. He backs her up against the wall, and points a gun at her. She can still smell the gunpowder from the bullets he'd just shot into Deeks – probably into his chest. _

"_Time to die, bitch," he says, his finger tightening against the trigger._

"_No," Kassel says, standing up, blood trailing down his chin from a cut near his mouth. "Mine." He steps in front of Sanchez, standing over Kensi, his large form practically enveloping her in his shadow. "Beg for you life."_

"_No," she says simply, exhaustion overtaking her. Even so, she refuses to let him have what he wants. If he's going to kill her, well then fine, but she's not going to give him the satisfaction of having broken her first._

_Even if she knows deep down inside that he already has by killing Deeks._

"_Have it your way." He reaches down, grabs her by the hair, lifts her up, and then slams her with all of the force he has in his body into one of the glass mirrors._

_Mercifully, she's unconscious before her head hits the glass a second time. He doesn't care. He slams her one last time into the mirrors, grinning sadistically as blood flows from her head. He drops her to the ground then, her body being further spliced by the razor sharp shards on the floor._

_For his part, Sanchez just stares, maybe a bit horrified._

"_I think she's still alive," Kassel says, a slight waver in his voice, just enough to show that for a moment, he'd lost control. It's not something he much cares for._

_Sanchez bends down and checks for a pulse. "Yeah, she is."_

"_Pick her up and uh…bring her to the big room."_

"_Why?"_

"_Just do it!" Kassel screams before putting his hands out in a motion meant to indicate that he's calming himself. "Just…do it."_

"_Yes, sir," Sanchez replies, trying to hide his own fear. He's never seen Kassel like this, but then, he's never seen a woman dare to stand up to him before. Kassel's wife – a trophy one if ever there was one - dares __to do very little -sometimes including dress herself - without first asking for instructing from him. _

_But this__ woman, this NCIS agent, even after hearing her partner supposedly get shot and killed, she'd refused to back down. She'd refused to be controlled._

_And the blood and glass all over the place show the price for that refusal._

_Sanchez leans down and lifts her up in his arms. She's lighter than he'd expected, even as a virtual deadweight. He carries her to the large open room._

"_Don't drop her yet," Kassel says. "Alejandro, set up the camera."_

"_Right," Alejandro replies. He goes over to a supply closet, opens it and pulls out a tripod and a video camera. He sets them up quickly, and then nods to Kassel._

"_Are we filming__?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Drop her."_

_Sanchez drops her, right in front of the camera. She hits the ground with a soft __thud; the video screen closing in on her bruised and battered face and the horrendous bloody wound on her head._

_Kassel turns to Alejandro, "Prep some of the Prince Charming."_

_Alejandro nods and steps away._

"_Where's Deeks?" he asks Sanchez._

"_With Trevor, waiting in the van for instructions on where to take him."_

"_Right. I'll be back. If she moves, if she tries to get up, kick her. She never gets up again, do you hear me?"_

_Sanchez nods._

_Kassel turns and leaves the room, his footsteps fast and angry. He's clearly still not back in control of emotions._

_"Deeks…"_

_He looks down, and sees that her eyes are open. _

"_You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters. He leans in towards her. "You're actually still in there."_

"_Deeks…"_

"_Dead. He's dead."_

_She swallows hard, and it occurs to him that even though her eyes are open, she has no idea what's happening around her. She has no idea that he's even there._

_He glances back behind him, then up at the camera, then down at her. "I warned him," he says to her. "He kept telling me to stop looking at you. He had no right. What I want, I always get."_

_He leans down over her then and presses his lips to hers. He feels a slight squirm, but little protest beyond that. Her taste, it's intoxicating, and it pushes him on. He shoves his tongue into her mouth, his hands sliding under her shirt and into the waistband of her jeans as he forces sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss on her._

_She moans and whimpers, and then when he presses his fingers into her hip, she cries out, but she still does nothing to stop him._

_She can't._

_Because she's broken and dying and he's won._

_He's won._

_His hands go up the front of her already torn shirt, and he rips it even further, exposing her to him. He touches her, delighting in the feverish warmth of her skin, enjoying the softness of it. He presses his mouth against her flesh._

_His fingers trail down, and he starts on her jeans, unbuttoning them. He slides his hand beneath the denim and into the cloth of her…_

"_We don't have time for this," Kassel says as he re-enters the room, Alejandro right behind him. Kassel isn't even a bit surprised to find Sanchez upon Kensi._

"_There's always time for this," Sanchez laughs. He feels Kensi move again beneath him, her __palm seeming to slide up as if to push him off. It's a small and insignificant movement, though, with no strength behind it, and he easily swats her hand away, twisting her wrist as he does._

"_No, we need to get going," Kassel replies as he takes a small case from Alejandro. He opens it up, extracts a syringe and a small vial, fills the needle up and then hands it and a yellow cord to Sanchez. "Shoot her up and let's get the hell out of here before her backup arrives."_

_Sanchez quickly ties off her arm, then leans down, his mouth just inches from hers. He holds it there for a brief moment, letting him taste her breath. Then, just as Kassel takes a step forward, he sits back, reaches down, and pushes the needle into her veins, emptying the entire syringe into her._

_It's far too much and overdose is an absolute certainty._

_It's an awful way to go._

_Kassel leans over her, and for a moment, Sanchez things he sees the unimaginable in Kassel's eyes – admiration and maybe even respect. He touches Kensi's face, and whispers, "Rest in peace, Agent Blye." Then he stands up, turns to Sanchez and says, "Turn it off and let's go."_

_Sanchez nods. He stands up, flips the camera off, picks it and the tripod up and then turns and follows Kassel and Sanchez out of the room._

_He stops just once to look back, his eyes focusing on her frame as it trembles ferociously against the hard cold ground. She's crying out now, trapped in the hellish delirium of an overdose, what's left of her life now measured in terms of minutes left and not days, weeks, months or years._

_Yeah, it's a horrible fucking way to die._

_Any sympathy that he might have for her (and there isn't much to begin with) is washed away by one cold bitter realization; better her than him._

_He shuts the door behind him and turns off the lights._

* * *

He thinks to himself that it's a strange (or terrible) night when the best words you hear all evening are, "I think we can give her something for the pain now."

It's late, close to ten at night, and they've been talking all evening. Somehow, though, even with her face creased with exhaustion and pain, she's still pushing along, still stubbornly struggling to get the story out on the chance that her words might somehow contain the secret to finding Deeks.

If Deeks is still alive.

According to Sanchez, he'd been alive a day earlier, but what if Kassel had killed him after realizing that Sanchez had been taken into custody again. It's a horrifying though, but a probably one.

The rest of the team is refusing to even consider it.

Especially Kensi.

Her survivor's guilt is thick, but it's more than that. She may not remember every detail (he's filled her in on most of what Sanchez had told Callen and Sam, leaving out only the details about the crude molestation that had occurred right before she had been shot up with the heroin), but she recalls enough to believe that her stubbornness is what had led to not only them being captured, but also to Deeks being kidnapped.

He's tried to reason with her, tried to tell her that Sanchez believes that Kassel had always planned to abduct and not kill Deeks (at least initially) but she refuses to listen. She believes that her pride and anger had pushed them into meeting with Sanchez at the docks, which had led to their capture.

Her pain – both physical and mental – is deep and unrelenting.

And he has to be back on a plane within twenty-four hours.

Sometimes Nate Getz hates his new job. Right now is one of those times.

"What is that?" she asks as a nurse starts a drip.

"Something to help you sleep without pain," Nate tells her. "It should kick in pretty quick."

"Did I say enough?" she asks, her voice very small. Even without the drugs having hit her system yet, she's fading fast, a brutal combination of pain and exhaustion overtaking her.

"You did great," he tells her.

"Where do you think he is?" she mumbles, blinking several times. The nurse is watching from the doorway, her eyes going from the drip to the monitors.

"Out there somewhere, Kensi," Nate says. "And as long as he, no matter what condition he's in, we have a chance to bring him home."

She smiles slightly, and then her eyelids flutter and close. A moment later, she's sound asleep.

"She's going to be okay," the nurse tells him.

He starts to tell her that she can't possibly know that, but stops short. This woman has no idea what hell Kensi's been through, she has no idea what hell is still on-deck if they don't find Deeks.

She only knows that for now, Kensi is sleeping peacefully.

Nate nods, "Yeah," he agrees, realizing that for now, sleeping peacefully (and hopefully free of dreams and nightmares) is good enough for him.

For now.

**TBC…**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Here we go - this is another transitional chapter, this one moving us from what's happened before to what will happen. This tale still has a few more twists in the road, and a bit more to go. At least another 3 chapters, possibly 4. I hope you're still enjoying it. Thank you for all the comments - they have been appreciated.**

* * *

Marty Deeks is running an extreme fever, and has been for hours now.

He can only guess at how bad it is. Everything feels hot and sweaty. Everything hurts and yet feels a strange kind of numb and cold. Every now and again, an icy chill tears through him, and salty water pours down his skin making him feel sticky and oily.

He keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. He's not sure if it's the repeated doses of heroin that he's been given (and is still be given on almost regular schedule) or the fever brought on by all of his injuries (especially the ones on his back, which have become inflamed and infected). Either way, he's either being overtaken by nightmares or plagued by delusions.

But that's not even the worst of it.

No, the worst of it is her.

Kensi.

He thinks he sees her in the room with him. And not just once, but a handful of times. Sometimes she's the Kensi he knows and adores – quick and witty with a cocky smirk for a smile. When she's that, she gives him peace, and for the briefest of moments, everything hurts a little bit less.

Other times, though, she's his fears and doubts made flesh. When she's that, she's angry and cold and she blames him for everything that's happened to both of them. When she's that, she breaks his heart because her hatred is so strong and vibrant – so corrosive.

Right now, she's something close to the latter as opposed to the former.

She's sitting next to the bed, on the ground, her long legs folded beneath her. She's wearing jeans and a white tee-shirt that looks like it's fresh out of the package with how brilliantly bright it is. Her hair is loose and flowing, and though she looks typically beautiful, there's an unusual coldness about her.

"Talk to me," he pleads, shifting slightly so that he can look at her too-serious face. He's used to her focused gaze and determined expressions, but this is somehow far different than that. There's a kind of seething fury just beneath the surface of this Kensi, and it frightens him more than just a bit because he knows that this rage is all directed at him.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks, and Deeks thinks to himself that she actually doesn't sound angry, but maybe bored? She looks down at her nails, and picks at one of them as if to remove a speck of dirt from beneath it.

"Anything. Tell me how to hold on? Please?"

"Why bother?" she replies, looking up at him. Her eyes, typically so unique and unusual are now a matching shade of coal black. He searches them for familiar emotion, for something that tells him that this is his Kensi. He's looking for something that reminds him of the deep emotional bond that he knows they share.

"I don't want to die like this," he insists.

"You really think you deserve any better?"

"Kensi," he pleads. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. It was your job to protect me."

Rationally, he knows that this could never be her. His Kensi has never been the kind of woman who wants anyone to protect her. His Kensi detests the idea of needing to be saved. In fact, when she'd had the option – when he'd tried to give himself up so that she could go free, she'd stubbornly refused to play along.

Still, the words hit hard. His mind feels like a battlefield, and the war is still going on. On one side is the part of him that is the cop and on the other side, the man.

The Cop is somewhat sensible and logical, able to at least try to strip away emotion and try to see what's actually going on here. He knows that all of this is some form of drug and guilt fueled hysterical delusion.

The Man is much more raw and irrational, driven by pure emotion and pain. The Man only knows (and cares) that his partner and a woman that for all intents and purposes is (or at least was) his best friend is now dead.

The Cop tells him that there was nothing he could have done to stop what had happened to her. The Cop insists that he'd heroically tried to throw himself in front of her. The Cop insists that this is one of the hazards of the job.

The Man scoffs derisively in the Cop's direction. The Man insists that he could have and should have done better. The Man wonders what he has left to fight for. Sure, she wasn't his only reason for living. Certainly no. The job was a big part of it. The need and desire to do right and good by people.

The Man tells him he's a failure at all of it. The Man tells him that even if he were to find a way out of this mess, the team – her team – would never accept him back. The LAPD never wanted him to begin with.

Almost like he's looking from shoulder (from the angel on one side to the devil on the other), Deeks turns to the Cop to disagree. The Cop says nothing.

Turning away from the Cop and the Man, Deeks looks down at Kensi, who is still sitting on the ground, her legs now spread out almost leisurely in front of her. One of her long hands is resting on her knee, her fingers tapping against the denim of her jeans. She looks impatient, almost irritated.

Like she's annoyed that his subconscious keeps pulling her to him.

"I'm so sorry," he says, certainly not for the first or last time.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" she replies, looking up at him. As she does, her face changes (slightly at first), a few jagged red lines creasing her skin.

He's seen this transformation a time or two already so he's no longer shocked by it. He's still plenty horrified by it, though.

His beautiful partner, her skin typically smooth, her dark olive complexion normally flawless, starts to look like what you would expect the victim of a horrific domestic abuse incident to look like.

Bruises appear around her eyes and jaw. Cuts snake across her flesh, digging valleys and raising mountains. Blood seeps from open gashes.

"Kensi," he whispers.

The only mercy is, she always disappears afterwards. She doesn't disappoint this time, either. As soon as she's turned from looking healthy and safe to how she'd looked just before Kassel had dragged her out of the dungeon room (or at least how his mind recalls her looking), she simply fades away.

Out of his life yet again.

He's not sure if he wants to come back or stay away.

Then again, he's not completely sure right now if he wants to live or die.

Marty Deeks has spent most of his life being a survivor, but right now, his body on fire with fever and infection, he's not sure if it's all worth it anymore.

The Cop and the Man continue to do war, and he finds that after awhile, he stops caring who wins or loses. He's both of these things (both Cop and Man), and yet neither fits him at the moment.

Right now, all he is a half-broken captive in a dirty room.

Right now, he's not much at all.

With great effort, he thinks back to the last time he remembers being himself. He thinks back to that horrible little dungeon at the warehouse in Van Nuys.

* * *

_For the moment, he's alone in the weird little Dungeon. He has no idea where Sanchez had dragged Kensi off to. He only knows that in the space of just a few moments, she's gone from being in terrible danger to being in mortal danger._

_Kassel is clearly furious with her. And while in a normal and sane situation, Deeks would find it amusing and perhaps even a bit of a turn-on to watch her refuse to back down to a creep like Kassel, this just isn't the time or place for her kind of reckless bravado._

_He feels like a bit of an ass even thinking that. It feels like a bit of a betrayal of her to be wishing that she could back off on being so stubborn and defiant every now and again. He loves those qualities about her – they are what make her Kensi Blye. And yet right now, he wishes she could find a way to not piss off the big bad guy quite so much._

_He hears the sound of impact somewhere down the hallway – like someone, most certainly Kensi – being thrown to the ground._

_Without even bothering to look up at the cuffs, he begins to struggle and yank at them. He feels them cut into his wrist, gouging giant bloody holes into his skin. _

"_Where you think you're going, Jimmy?" Sanchez says as he re-enters, that damned smirk playing on his lips again._

"_Deeks. My name is Deeks," the blonde cop reminds him, teeth grit._

"_For now," Sanchez chuckles. _

"_Where'd you take her? Where is she?" Deeks demands._

"_Oh you don't need to worry about that anymore," Sanchez assures him. "She's not a problem for you – or anyone - anymore."_

"_If you hurt her…"_

_Right as he says that, he hears the sound of flesh being hit – hard – come from that same room down the hall. He thinks he hears her cry out in pain (something he knows she probably hates). _

_Sanchez smirks. "Oh, we haven't even begun to hurt her yet. But we will, don't you worry about that." He leans forward. "I will. But hey, since I know it means so much to you, I might even take a few pictures for you. Just so you know how much she really enjoyed it. How much she really enjoyed me."_

_Deeks struggles again, the rips in his skin deepening. He feels the sticky blood flowing down his palms, dripping from his fingers. He doesn't care._

_For his part, Sanchez just laughs._

"_Dear God, man, do you know what you look like right now? You really think this is doing you or her any good? There's no way you're getting out of those chains. There's no way you're saving her. No one can save her now. No one."_

"_I'm going to kill you," Deeks promises._

"_You keep saying that. We both know it's never going to happen."_

_At that moment, Alejandro re-enters the room. "Boss wants to wrap things up," he says simply._

"_About time," Sanchez nods. He steps towards Deeks. "Ready for a nap, Jimmy."_

"_Deeks," he growls again._

_Sanchez just shrugs, and then with all the force and anger he can muster (which after everything that has happened between he and Deeks is fairly significant), he pulls back and slugs Deeks across the cheekbone._

_Excruciating pressure explodes in Deek's face, and he almost immediately sees bright red in front of his eyes. The last thing he sees before he passes out, is Alejandro pointing a gun at him._

_Suddenly, he finds himself hoping that there is God somewhere. He hopes that his cosmic balance card is good. _

"_Do it," Sanchez says._

_As he falls into unconsciousness, Deeks hears the sound of two shots get fired. Oddly enough, he never feels the impact of the bullets. _

_He doesn't understand why until much later._

_By then, he's wishing to that same God that he had been shot._

_Unfortunately, Kassel has other things – much worse things – planned for him._

* * *

"We're almost done," Callen says softly, looking into the Interrogation Room. He's leaning heavily against the table in the outer room of the Boatshed now, every bone in his body feeling the exhaustion and fatigue of several days of almost no sleep.

"How do you know?" Eric asks. Callen glances down at the young tech, his eyes doing a quick inventory. Eric looks as wiped out as the rest of them do, but there's something more. Deep in Eric's blue eyes, there's a kind of aching pain, the kind that comes with loss of innocence.

Eric has been with the team for a while now, he's seen pain and loss before. He was front and center for Dom's disappearance, recovery and eventual murder.

This is somehow so much worse.

Dom had been captured by essentially nameless and faceless terrorists (with the exception of Moe). It had been horrific and personal, but it hadn't been like this.

Maybe Dom had gone through hell during the months he had been held captive – maybe he had been brutalized – but if he had, the team had never been told as much.

Callen had reviewed Dom's autopsy report, and looked at several files (and videos) that had been recovered from the theatre where Dom had been held – and eventually murdered. Yes, he had been beaten, but only occasionally. It appeared that for the most part, he'd simply been thrown into a room and forgotten about until it was time to use him as leverage.

Terrible certainly, but not at all like this.

This…well Callen almost doesn't have the words for the anger and hurt he feels at what Kensi and Deeks have gone through.

She hurts him the most – he adores her like a little sister, and the very idea of her being injured in this way pains him more than he cares to admit. He's always been insanely proud of her ability to take a punch without flinching. He's always grinned and smirked his way through her shows of defiance and stubbornness.

Right now, though, it sounds like that defiance and stubbornness had just gotten her injured more. And that kind of breaks his heart in half. He doesn't see these things as weaknesses, he sees them as defining traits and the idea that they could have caused her pain, it just reminds him that this job very seldom leaves any part of their souls undamaged.

He hurts for Deeks as well. He kind of likes the scruffy cop. He's been doing this job for a long time, and unlike Sam who seems to think that everything should always be by the book, Callen sees a place for guys like Deeks. The job can be hellish and far too serious and painful. A man like Deeks serves to remind everyone why they stick around. He reminds them why they do this.

More than that, though, a guy like Deeks is the perfect partner for Kensi.

Callen doesn't know all of her secrets. To be honest, he probably doesn't even know half of them. What he does know is that her past is littered with pain and loss. All of that hurt has made her serious and somewhat hard far before her time. Left to her own devices, she could very easily be cold and angry, a warrior fighting for no other reason than because she don't know what else to do.

Deeks – a man with his own secrets and his own painful past – is the perfect ying to her yang. A ridiculously optimistic man who seems to have perfected the art of refusing to let anything keep his mood down for longer than a few minutes at a time (except when Kensi's safety is involved, Callen has noticed) he does what no other partner has ever been able to do – he makes Kensi laugh.

It's not just the laughter, though, it's the trust.

Callen knows that Kensi trusts he and Sam. Until Deeks had come along, he'd been pretty sure that the listed had ended there. Okay, you could probably add Hetty and to a much smaller degree, Eric, but after that, everyone else was an outsider and she'd sooner allow the loss of a limb than the revealing of a secret.

Deeks, in less than six months, has wormed his way into her circle of trust. It had taken him and Sam at least a year – and many harrowing missions - to do that. For Deeks and Kensi, it had taken two cases – one involving a young man with an absentee father and the other dealing with murderous Russians who had considered her to be little more than a means to an end.

He'd proven to her that he'd be there for her, that he wouldn't let her down. He'd proven to her that he would protect her life with as much force as he'd protect his own. For her, that had earned him entry into a very exclusive club – people she would trust to guard her back without question or reservation.

And now, that trust had been used to destroy both of them.

They'd stood beside each other, supported each other relentlessly, and both refused an opportunity to get out. They'd both offered themselves up to protect each other, and they'd both paid dearly for doing so.

The question is now, can she survive if the end result of all of this is that a week from now, maybe two or three, they're burying Marty Deeks as they once did Dominic Vaile.

Callen doesn't think so.

There's only so much hurt and loss that any person can take.

He fears that if she has to watch Deeks get lowered into the ground, her next move will be turn around and walk away.

From them. From everything.

It hurts like hell to even think about that, but Callen has been doing this a long time, and he's seen damned good operatives walk away more than a few times.

Even Kensi, stubbornly strong and shockingly resilient Kensi can only take so much. Sometimes, the job and all of the loss and pain it brings with it, simply finds a way to break you. Sometimes, it just becomes too much.

"Callen?" Eric says softly, pulling him back to the present.

"How do I know he's almost done?" Callen repeats. "You can see it in his eyes." Callen points up at the LCD screen, gesturing towards Paul Sanchez's face. "He's no longer getting off on telling us how much he hurt them. He's scared and exhausted, and in pain, and he just wants this over as much as we do. All that's left now is to find out if he knows what Kassel's plan for Deeks is."

"You think he does?" Eric asks as Sam enters the room with Hetty and Detective Bernhart in tow. They'd gotten a call from Bernhart about twenty minutes earlier, something about a lead he'd dug up and needed to talk to them about right away.

"Not sure," Callen answers quickly before turning his attention to the incoming trio. "What have you got, Detective?"

"Jennifer Donovan."

"Who?" Callen asks.

"Kassel's wife," Sam answers. "Well, his live-in girlfriend anyway. There's no official paperwork, but Detective Bernhart was able to dig up a connection."

Out of the corner of his eye, Callen sees Eric lean over his keyboard, his fingers flying furiously over the keys as he starts to run checks on the name Jennifer Donovan. His brow is furrowed, and Callen has no doubt that the tech is wondering how he missed the connection. To be honest, Callen is wondering the exact same thing.

"After I heard you guys talking about the dinner party that they went to with Kassel and his wife, I started looking around for her."

"So did I, " Eric insists. "I came up empty." He looks up at Hetty, who offers him a gentle smile in return.

"Me, too," Bernhart replies. "Until I started talking with a guy I knew who had worked on a case involving Kassel from a few years back. I asked him about anyone named Gabrielle. He said the name rang a bell, and went back through all of his old notebooks. That's where he came across the name Jennifer Donovan. Middle name – Gabrielle. On paper, there is no connection, but most of Kassel's inner circle know her as his wife. And they all call her Gabrielle."

"Got her," Eric says, voice flat.

Callen turns and leans over Eric, settling a hand on his shoulder. On the screen is a picture of a beautiful blonde woman with nearly flawless features. The quintessential trophy wife if ever there was one.

"Jennifer Gabrielle Donovan, thirty-three years old. She's the daughter of a movie producer, and while her family is pretty well off, it's safe to say that a good chunk of her money comes from Kassel." Eric informs them. "She has a whole list of properties under her name."

"At least some of them probably belong to Kassel," Sam suggests.

"We should check them all," Callen nods.

"I'll get my guys on it," Bernhart replies, taking a step towards the door.

"Wait," Hetty calls out. "The moment your men raid the first residence, Kassel is likely to find out and either move or kill Detective Deeks. We need a plan."

Bernhart stops in his tracks. "All right, tell me what you want me to do here."

It's a strange sight to see such a typically cocksure cop be so subservient. Just the fact that he is makes it fairly clear to everyone in the room that Bernhart is still blaming himself for allowing Kensi to be attacked at the hospital.

"Eric, compile the full list. Check all of her relatives, anyone connected to her. Get every property that she might have even a tertiary relationship to."

Eric nods, "Already on it."

"Detective, gather your men, get them on stand-by. As soon as we have a full list, we'll move everyone into position and hit all of the locations at the same time," Callen continues. "In the meanwhile, Sam, you and I have a story to wrap up."

Hetty nods her approval of her words. In a normal time with less stress and fear, she'd admit to herself how proud she is of his strong and calm leadership. She figures that there will be time for that later. She just hopes that that time comes hand in hand with the return of Deeks and Kensi to the team.

* * *

Sanchez looks up at Callen and Sam when they enter. His eyes are ringed with exhaustion and pain. The meds they'd given him have long worn off and no one seems all that interested in giving him any more relief.

"I ain't got much more," Sanchez says wearily.

"We want what you have," Sam tells him. "And then we'll hand you over the marshals, and you can spend the night in the infirmary of a Federal lockup."

Sanchez smiles slightly. "You know I'll be dead within the week, right? No way he lets me live after he knows I talked. One betrayal was bad enough, but he had a use for me. Now he doesn't. I'm a dead man." His voice is calm, and almost sad. It's like for a minute, all of the bravado has been stripped away, and all there is left is a sad pathetic man who knows that he's got very little of his life left.

"We'll have you put in isolation," Callen offers.

"Why would you do that? You two want to kill me yourselves."

"You're right, we do," Sam confirms. "And maybe if we didn't have these badges, we would."

"But you're not like me, right? You're the good guys."

"For the moment," Sam agrees.

"For all the good that does you guys. For all the good that did them."

"Just talk," Callen says, too tired to even be angry anymore. At least for the moment.

"Right. Where am I starting from now?"

"You knocked Deeks out, right?" Callen asks.

"Yup. Right across the cheekbone. I heard a long time ago that if you hit there just right, the sudden pressure can be awful and down you go. Down he went."

"And then?"

"Then Alejandro dragged him to the van and cuffed him to the wall. Even if he'd come around, there was no way he was getting loose. After I injected Agent Blye with the heroin, Alejandro and I returned to the van. Deeks was still out cold. Our job was to get him back to the first hideout. That's what we did."

* * *

_Deeks is lying unconscious on his side inside the van, his hands cuffed behind him, when Sanchez and Alejandro climb inside._

"_How long you think it'll take her to die?" Alejandro asks with an almost cruel kind of curiosity. He slides behind the wheel and fires up the engine of the van._

"_Ten minutes. Five if she's lucky."_

"_Shame," Alejandro shrugs. "She was hot."_

"_Yeah," Sanchez mutters, his mind replaying the moments he'd spent touching her. Truth be told, he'd seen no reason to rush things along and leave so quickly, but he sure as hell hadn't been about to say no to Kassel. Not after everything else that has happened._

"_Which house are we going to?" Alejandro asks._

"_The one a couple miles from here, right on the edge of Van Nuys."_

"_The one that smells?" _

"_What do you care?"_

"_I'm the one whose probably gotta stay and watch him."_

"_Deal with it," Sanchez growls._

_They drive about a mile and a half before Alejandro – a mean bastard for sure, but never the brightest crayon in the box – asks stupidly, "So you think he'll kill you for what you did? Working with the cops and all, I mean."_

_Sanchez gives him a look that he hopes is cold enough. "No, I have value to him, and he knows it."_

"_You brought them in."_

"_And I'm helping take them out."_

"_Okay," Alejandro mutters. "But, if he asks me to do you, it won't be personal, you know that, right?"_

"_Shut the fuck up and drive, would you? We don't want Deeks waking up while you're having one of your fucking Dr. Phil moments."_

"_I'm just saying."_

"_And I'm just saying, we have an unconscious cop in our car, and we just murdered a Fed. Now is not the time to be screwing around. The Boss wants him at the house and tied up, and ready for his first dose."_

"_Any idea why we didn't just kill him like we did her?"_

"_Boss has his reasons."_

"_You know what they are?" Alejandro pushes._

_Sanchez sighs loudly. He's always hated working with partners. They tend to always find a way to screw things up and get in the way. "He's probably gonna try to flip him," he finally replies._

"_This dude? No way. Especially not after we killed his girl."_

"_You'd be surprised how good the Boss is at flipping these cops. Take away everything they have, juice them up, promise them some power and money and freedom, and these guys, they're so sick of playing by the rules and always losing. You remember Cain? Or Hudson?"_

"_Cain is dead. Haven't seen Hudson in awhile."_

"_He's dead, too, but both were cops at one point. Both got sick of making pennies while guys like Kassel and you and me roll fat. A little bit of green and they went easy." He gestures back towards Deeks. "He won't. And I don't think he can be flipped, but the Boss wants to try, and we do what he wants."_

"_You mean you do what he wants because if you don't, you know you're dead."_

"_We're here," Sanchez says shortly. He knows that Alejandro – idiot though he be – is likely right. He's hanging onto his life by the slimmest of threads. Right now, Kassel has a use for him. If that changes, he's a dead man. _

_The van parks and both men get out. "Grab his feet," Sanchez directs. The two of them carry Deeks into the house, and then into the dirty window-less room in the back. They tie him to the chair as tightly as they can. In the position he's in, it'll be nearly impossible for him to squirm his way out of the binds._

_Once he's sure that Deeks is secure, Sanchez slaps his face. "Wake up, Jimmy."_

"_Why you calling him that?" Alejandro asks. He's holding a box in his hands, prepping the contents of it. _

"_Boss wants me to. And no, I don't know why. Probably has something to do with flipping him." Sanchez slaps him again. "Wakey-wakey."_

_Deeks blinks. "Kensi?"_

_Sanchez smirks, then nods to Alejandro. "Inject him."_

_Alejandro pulls out the needle, the same one that had twenty minutes earlier been jammed into Kensi's arm. He leans over Deeks, making sure that the cop can just about taste the fried chicken that he'd had for lunch. He ties him off, locates a vein, and then injects just a small amount._

_It's more than enough, though, to send Deeks flying off into delusion land._

"_Now what?" Alejandro asks._

_"Now you stay with him. Boss wants me to go back to the scene and see what's going on there. You know, make sure she's dead. When Deeks wakes up, ask him what we were asking back at the warehouse. See if he'll talk about the other jobs his team is doing around LA. Shit like that. Point is, try to get him talking."_

"_You think it'll be that easy?"_

"_Nope. When he refuses, hit him. Break shit. Boss doesn't care. Just don't do anything that won't heal up. After you're done slapping him around a bit, shoot him up. But be careful, we do not want him overdosing, you get it?"_

"_Yeah, loud and clear."_

_By the time Sanchez gets back to the warehouse, a ballcap pulled down over his eyes, the place is a madhouse of law enforcement. The ambulance is long gone when he arrives, but by lurking around, he's able to catch bits and pieces of several conversations from the cops working the scene._

_Enough to know that, much to his surprise, Kensi Blye had been taken to the hospital alive. At least for the time being. Or so they think. It's clear to him that the Feds on the scene aren't all that interested in clearing up the details. Which in and of itself suggests to him that yes, she's alive._

_Or at least was fifteen to twenty minutes ago._

_He doesn't stick around long – he's not stupid enough to test fate. _

_Not this time anyway._

_The next couple of days pass quickly for Paul Sanchez. He spends his time between the house in Van Nuys and the hospital. He's amazed by just how stupidly easy it is to get access to the critical care wing._

_And that's where he sees her. The police wires all claim that she's dead, but one of his sources at the hospital had told him that a badly wounded Fed who had suffered a near fatal drug overdose had been brought in. Adding one and one together had been easy. Kassel had told him to keep an eye on her._

_Keep an eye on her and kill her at the first opportunity._

_It's clear to him that Kassel's hatred at the girl for defying to defy him hasn't been tempered even a little bit by what he's already done to her. Which is fine by Sanchez. In his mind, Agent Blye is exactly the kind of woman who needs to be shown her place. Preferably, a permanent one in the ground._

_Sanchez realizes quickly that he's going to have to make an opportunity of his own, though, because there are always cops around her. Cops or members of her team. _

_So, he waits for his chance. _

_He hears her condition relayed from doctor to doctor, and he knows that she's feverish and constantly in and out of consciousness. Apparently, she's also suffering from a massive head injury – surely the result of Kassel's slamming her head repeatedly in the glass wall – and is therefore having memory issues._

_He reports everything he hears back to Kassel, and as a reward, Kassel lets him be the one to go in and see Deeks after Kassel has shown him the videotape of what Deeks believe is his partner's murder._

_He taunts him and plays with Deeks, letting him know that his only chance at living is to allow himself to be broken. And then he shoots Deeks up again, watching in amusement as the once steady as a rock and completely in control cop spins down the rabbit hole of addiction and insanity._

_Kassel doesn't let him in on any more of the plan, but Sanchez actually doesn't care. His hope is that once he murders Agent Blye as ordered, the Boss will be so pleased with him that he'll assign him back to the streets._

_Let him get on with what he's good at. Selling and moving drugs around._

_His opportunity to take Agent Blye comes a few days in._

_He sets up the distraction at the hospital, has a couple local thugs start a fight in the hallway. Once the idiot cops who are supposed to be guarding her room move away to check out the disturbance, he sneaks in, intent on changing his own destiny, and getting himself back in Kassel's good graces._

_Of course, all of that goes to hell in a hand basket when the dumb bitch fights back. Again._

_All she has to do is die. Go out easy. Just stop being a stubborn pain in the ass for fifteen or twenty seconds. That's all she has to do and it'll all be over._

_But no, no, no, instead, she digs her nails into his hands, and struggles like crazy. She gives her backup just enough time – once again – to get to her._

_And then he feels the pain of a bullet tearing through the flesh of his leg._

_Paul Sanchez knows in that moment that one way or another, he's a dead man. He either dies of the wound (doubtful), her team kills him (possible) or Kassel has him murdered (probable). Either way, there's no more seconds chances._

_Either way, he's done._

* * *

Nate doesn't say a word as Eric replays the audio from the end of Sanchez's story. He simply listens, his mind dwelling on the horrific pain that Kensi and Deeks have been put through.

"That's it," Eric finally says, his voice thick with emotion.

"Are you all right?" Nate asks.

"I'm…I'm not fine," Eric admits. "But I'm…I'm okay. That's what…that's what I'm supposed to say, right?"

"You're not an agent," Nate reminds him.

"No, but I am part of this team, and they need me to be strong. So maybe I should be like them. For now anyway."

"For what it's worth, Eric, I don't think you ever need to be like them, and I hope you never are," Nate tells him. Anyone else might think that he was disparaging the OSP undercover agents, but Eric understands exactly what Nate means by that; the world doesn't need any more damaged souls.

"Yeah," Eric agrees quietly, wondering if perhaps it's too late for this. His life story isn't nearly as traumatic as the ones belonging to say Kensi or Callen, but he's certainly seen his share of pain. Thus far, he's been remarkably resilient in the face of it, but really, even he can only take so much.

Right?

"So what's next?" Nate asks. He glances down the hallway, his eyes settling on the anxious and pacing form of Mike Renko. Renko has been at the hospital since he'd relieved Bernhart much earlier that morning.

"We found eight locations owned by either Jennifer Donovan or someone related to her. Most of them are fairly high end, but there's a couple reclamation projects owned by her brother. They might be legit investments, they might not. In any case, NCIS and the LAPD are getting together to raid all of them simultaneously."

"So we should know soon?" Nate queries as he walks down the hallway.

"Ideally," Eric confirms.

Nate stops halfway down the hallway, ducks into a break-room, pours a cup of coffee, and then brings it to Renko. "Here, drink this. You look like you're about to pass out."

"Thanks. Anything?" Renko asks, taking the cup and a long sip.

"Raids starts soon."

"Got it. I should be there."

Nate squeezes his shoulder. "She needs you here."

"I know."

Nate offers him a small smile, then walks back towards Kensi's room, intent on keeping her within sight at all times. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"I wasn't really. How's Kensi doing? Any better?"

Nate steps into the hospital room where she is. She's sleeping soundly, all of the monitors beeping in time with her heart and other vitals. For just a moment, even with all of the bruising and bandages, she looks somewhat peaceful, no doubt thanks to the heavy painkillers that she's finally on. "Resting."

"Is she going to be all right?"

"I hope so," Nate says softly.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound very optimistic," Nate notes.

"It's not that. It's just…can a cop like Deeks really be flipped that easy?"

"Nothing easy about it," Nate replies. "It takes a long time to make a man sell himself out. They haven't had him nearly long enough."

"But if they had? What if…what if we don't find him? I mean, who feeds his dog then? I stopped by the place this morning, but...what happens if we don't find him? What happens to him?"

"Deeks is a good man. He's got morals, and he's got a reason to be himself. He may not be proud of every decision he's ever made, but I think deep down, he knows that he's made a difference. If he can hold onto that, he'll be okay."

"Okay."

"You'll keep me posted?"

"I'll let you know as soon as we know anything," Eric promises him. Then, "If she wakes up, what are you going to tell her?"

"Hopefully good news," Nate answers.

"And if not?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to. But Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"Callen and Sam by nature expect the worst. Right now, they're thinking there's no way they find Deeks or if they do, he's dead. They need you to believe that he will be found and brought home. Someone has to."

"And if I'm wrong?"

"They won't resent you for hoping. They need that as much as you do, even if they'll never admit it."

"Thanks."

"I'll talk to you later," Nate says. He hangs up the phone and heads back into Kensi's room. He drops down next to the bed. Now, sitting closer to her, he can see that her sleep isn't near as peaceful as he'd previously thought.

He reaches out and slides his hand into hers. "I don't know what's going to happen today," he says softly. "But you got to promise me, whatever happens, you won't lose yourself."

Being that she's sound asleep, he obviously doesn't expect a response. But then again, he probably never would have asked the question had she been awake. If he had, she would have simply replied that she'd be fine.

They'd both have immediately known it for the lie it would have been.

He knows this woman, sometimes he thinks perhaps even better than Callen or Sam do. He can't speak for her relationship with Deeks – he's seen very little of it in person – but he knows how she deals with pain and loss. She closes down and up, she looks for ways to get tougher and stronger.

How do you not lose yourself when you're insistent on locking yourself away in order to protect what little of your mind, heart and soul you have left?

He squeezes her hand, weaving his fingers between hers.

He thinks about what he'd told Eric about the need for someone to stay positive. Ever since he's started doing the missions for Hetty, he's found it harder and harder to be a glass half-full kind of guy.

Which means that right now, every part of him is buzzing with fear.

Every part of him is telling him that today is not going to go well at all.

Unfortunately, he's right.

* * *

Eight houses in five minutes. That's how it goes down. Sam and Callen are across town from each other, each leading up a team of heavily armed agents. They burst in, kicking down doors and firing shots when they meet resistance at two of the residences.

Two of them are the hide-outs of low-level members of Kassel's gang. They're taken easily and with casualties to only the drug dealers.

Three of the houses are completely clean, showing no-signs of any affiliation to Christopher Kassel. The sixth one is a gorgeous beach house –the one that Deeks had visited Kassel at several times (Sanchez had confirmed the address).

The seventh and eighth houses – the ones that Sam and Callen go to – are the reclamation projects legally owned by Porter Donovan, Gabrielle's brother. Both are empty, but show signs of recent use, and not the savory kind.

The one Sam goes to – a real nasty one story house deep in the heart of East LA – is the one where Deeks has obviously been kept.

"He was here," Sam says.

"How do you know?" Callen asks over the earpiece.

"I'm in a room with a bed. There's blood all over the bed."

"That doesn't mean…"

"His watch is here," Sam says, leaning down to pick up the black watch that had been left on the blood soaked mattress.

"Bread crumbs?"

"I don't think so. I don't think Deeks left it behind."

"You think Kassel did? Why?"

"Because there's a note here. Says 'Detective Deeks is dead.'"

"That's it?" Callen asks, his voice thick with disbelief.

"That's it."

"How'd he know we were coming? How'd he know to move Deeks?"

"I don't know how Kassek knew, but…maybe he didn't move him," Sam says. "The LAPD is sending over their dogs and equipment. They're going to tear this place board from board to make sure that he's not buried somewhere…here."

"Right," Callen replies. "I'm on my way over."

* * *

By the time Callen gets there, the house is full of cops, each of them wearing matching expressions of anger and determination. Callen looks over and sees Sam and Bernhart standing off to the side, having a quiet conversation.

"Anything?" Callen asks.

"We have Sarah Donovan – Gabrielle. She's down at the precinct, but I don't think she's going to be of much use," Bernhart says. "She's a trophy wife in more ways than just looks."

"You're saying she doesn't know anything?" Callen presses.

"He's saying she doesn't know anything useful," Sam answers, fatigue and disappointment soaking his tone. He's experienced a lot of loss in his life, but it never gets easier to lose a member of your own team.

"She knows that Kassel is a drug dealer, but she doesn't know any of the details of any of his operations. She only knows that she plays her part, and he makes sure she's always happy," Bernhart explains. "She remembers Kensi and Deeks, but has no idea what was happening between them. She's a complete empty."

"Fantastic," Callen says bitterly. He reaches out and takes the watch from Sam. "There's still no body…"

"And until there is, there's a chance," Sam replies.

All three men exchange a look, one that says simply that they don't believe their own words.

All three of them believe the exact same thing; that the next time they see Marty Deeks, they'll be seeing his lifeless body.

* * *

She knows the news is bad when its Hetty who comes to deliver it. The tiny Operations Manager enters with Nate, whose face is somber and drawn.

She knows the news is really bad when Hetty calls her by her first name.

"Kensi," she says. "How are you feeling?"

"He's dead isn't he?" Kensi asks, her voice flat. She's in no mood for pleasantries. The fog that had been draped over her brain like a thick cloak just minutes earlier thanks to all the painkillers is now gone, replaced by a searing pain that seems have no focus point. No beginning and no end.

Except maybe in the middle of her chest.

"We don't know that," Hetty replies. "We just know that he's missing and we…we have no further leads."

"He's dead," Kensi says again, this time making it clear that she believes it to be the truth of the situation. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Renko appear. He stays in the doorway, as if unwilling to enter.

There's an old way amongst field operatives – a way of dealing with death and loss. They're supposed to be strong and stoic and they're not supposed to show pain or fear or weakness. Even to each other.

Callen and Sam are old pros at that. Renko, too. Deeks is only the second person that Kensi has ever lost in the line of duty, but she's got a lot of practice thanks to Jack and her father at learning how to internalize grief and loss.

A voice in the back of her head tells her that this is the wrong path to take, that Deeks wouldn't want her to do this. Hell, it says, Deeks would be the first one annoyed at her for not showing emotion at his loss.

But she won't, she simply won't.

"I know this is difficult," Hetty starts.

"It's not. I've been through this before. I know how it goes."

"It never gets easier."

"Actually it does. It gets easier because you learn…" she stops short, emotion choking off her words. She takes a moment to steel herself, and then finishes, "You learn…you learn not to…you just learn."

She means to say that you learn not to let anyone in again, you learn not to allow people to get close. You learn not to believe someone when they tell you that they'll always be there, always have your back.

You learn how to ignore them when they say to you that they'll be with you every step of the way, even if you don't see them.

Because in the end, it's all lies.

Whether willing or otherwise, everyone leaves. Everyone.

"Oh, my dear…"

"I'm…I'm fine. Just…tired," Kensi cuts her off. She's staring straight ahead now, calmly ignoring the worried looks she's getting from Hetty and Nate. Renko's expression is harder to read, but she recognizes it, and thinks that she's probably wearing some variation (albeit a much more emotionless one) of it herself right now.

"Would you like me to let you rest?" Hetty asks.

"Please."

"Certainly."

Hetty takes a step towards the door, then, "If you'd like to talk…"

"I don't need to."

"If you do, you know where I am."

"Do you know when I'll be released?"

"Not for a few days," Nate puts in. "At least a week if not more. Your head injury…"

"Is healing."

"Is still quite serious," Hetty inserts. "And you need to stay here until all of the doctors working your case clear you to return home."

"And then?"

"Why don't we worry about 'then" then?" Hetty suggests.

Kensi's eyes flash up, showing emotion for the first time. "Am I…have I been…do I still have a job to return to?" For the first time, fear shows in her eyes.

There's a tsunami of violent emotions swirling around within her, but through sheer force of will, she's able to control them enough to keep them inside. The fear of not having a home to return to – a place (and that place is certainly her job – is enough to press cracks into the thick wall that she has put up around her.

Hetty leans forward. "That will never be the case as long as I am there," she assures Kensi. "But you have been seriously injured. You have a lot of healing to do before we worry about you returning to action."

"But I can…return to action, right?"

"We will do everything in our power to make that happen."

"Thank you," Kensi replies, letting Hetty see the gratitude she feels.

"Anytime, my dear. And I meant it, if you would like to talk, I am always available to you. Night or day."

"I know," Kensi answers, her voice hardening again, her tone making it clear that she has no intention of talking. A look over at Nate tells him the same thing – story time is over; she has no desire to speak to anyone about Deeks or the painful feelings that are tearing at her insides, threatening to rip her apart.

She'd told Deeks during their captivity that she wouldn't break. She doesn't intend to break now. At least not in front of anyone. Maybe not at all.

"I'll let you sleep then. Mr. Renko and Detective Bernhart will continue to stand guard for you until you are released."

"You really think that's necessary?"

"I think I don't care if it is or not."

Kensi simply nods. Hetty tries again to find her eyes, but all she gets is a distant gaze from her youngest operative. It's enough to break the heart of even the most grizzled of operatives.

Hetty steps out of the room, followed closely by Nate.

"You want me to keep trying to talk to her?" Nate asks.

"Not tonight. Tonight, leave her alone with her feelings."

"Is that safe? Or healthy?"

"Probably not, but she's still not physically well enough to handle all of this. If you push her, she could have an extreme reaction that could cause her even more harm. We should let her come to this in her own time."

Nate shakes his head. "You know better than that. This is Kensi. She doesn't come to things like this in her time. She represses them and locks them away. But you know what, Dom was one thing. She and Deeks, they were actually partners – in every sense of the word, I suspect. It's not healthy for her to lock all of this away. It's not right."

"And you won't get her talking – even to you – before she's ready."

"And what if she's never ready?"

Hetty just gives him a small smile.

"You've seen this before," Nate says, and he's not asking a question.

"Agents turning hard because of too much loss?" Hetty asks. She nods. "Unfortunately. Too many times."

"There's nothing we can do?"

"I didn't say that. But now is not the time. She needs to grieve in her own way. And she needs to heal. We can deal with everything else later."

"Just as long as we do plan to deal with it."

Hetty simply nods, and says, "We do, Mr. Getz, I promise you that."

* * *

She's with him again, sitting next to the bed, her hand wrapped in his. She's been his Kensi for hours now, teasing him about lying down and whining, harassing him about being delicate and soft.

Only the fact that his body is simply too weak keeps him from enjoying her presence. Still, he makes no move to pull away from her.

He just listens to her voice, thinking if one of these time Alejandro gives him too much of the heroin, he'd be fine with her words being the last he ever hears. Even if they're not real, even if they're just figments of his imagination.

Vaguely, he recalls hearing Alejandro and another man talk about the cops being on the way. And then he remembers being thrown back into the van, and then drugged up. He'd come to many hours later, somewhere far away from Los Angeles, likely outside of the immediate reach of his team.

He's in another little room now, this one much cleaner. He's again on his stomach, on a bed with clean white sheets. He's not sure why he's moved from filth to near respectability, but even in his state, he knows it can't be a good thing.

"Jimmy," he hears, as the door opens, and Kassel enters. He sees the man's leather loafers as they cross the floor.

"Deeks," he replies, still not understanding why they continue to call him Jimmy.

"We should talk," Kassel tells him.

"I thought we had been. Like old friends."

Kassel chuckles. "We are old friends."

"I think you've been shooting some of your own product," Deeks retorts. He glances up at Kensi, who smirks at him. He thinks how much he loves that look.

"No, not really my thing. But I'm wondering, are you just about done with this?"

"This? You mean the whole getting the shit beat out of me?"

"No, the whole pretending to be someone you're not."

"I'm not following."

"Jimmy…"

"Deeks," the young cop insists again.

"See, son, that's the problem. You think you're someone you're not. You think you're someone you never have been."

"What?"

"There is no Marty Deeks. There never has been."

Deeks blinks. He wonders if he's hearing things, he wonders if this entire conversation with Kassel is just another delusion. He looks up towards Kensi again, and sees that she's wearing the same confused expression that he is.

"I don't know what you're playing at…"

"I'm not playing at anything. I'm simply trying to bring one of my best boys home. Jimmy, I want you back."

"My name is Marty Deeks. I'm a Detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. I don't…have a serial number. I think."

Kassel ignores the half-assed attempt at humor, intent on pushing forward his agenda. "No, you're not. Your name is Jimmy Reese, and you work for me."

"That's bullshit."

"No, it's not. Listen to me, Jimmy. Listen. Three years ago, you got in a fight with a young man named Marty Deeks. The real Marty Deeks. You killed him, and buried him in the Los Angeles National Forest. Afterwards, you stole his car. That's when you discovered that he had tested to join the police department. With my help, you took his place. You took his life. You became Martin Deeks. Everything that has happened, everything that you remember, it's a lie. Marty Deeks is dead. You are Jimmy Reese."

He blinks. It's absurd. It's preposterous. He laughs.

"Really? That's how you're going to try to break me?"

Kassel just looks back at him, an almost patient paternal expression on his face. "I know this is difficult. I never thought you'd get in so deep that you'd actually start believing that you were him, that you were one of them. I never thought I'd have to hurt you so badly to bring you back."

"And my partner? Let me guess, one of your people, too? Or maybe an actress?"

"No, no. She was a real Fed. Agent Blye. But, unfortunately, she was in the way. It's strange really, three years ago, you would have killed her yourself."

"No. Jimmy Reese is a cover that Er…that was made up. It's a cover."

"You're confused. I can help you."

Kassel stands and then nods towards Alejandro. Deeks feels the pressure of the needle a moment later. Familiar colors wash over him, sweeping him backwards, and into a wash of peaceful calm. He embraces it fully.

"Everything is upside down right now, Jimmy, but I promise you, before long, everything will make sense. You'll remember who you are. You'll remember whom you belong with. You'll remember who your family really is."

The last thing Deeks does before he fully surrenders to the heroin is look around the room for Kensi. She's gone, though. Nowhere to be seen.

Which means that aside from Kassel and Alejandro, he's alone. Alone, afraid and confused. And much to his surprise and horror, wondering who is real – Marty Deeks or James Reese.

"Deeks," he mumbles. "I am Marty Deeks."

Kassel touches his face. "Deeks is dead. You are Jimmy Reese. You always have been. You always will be."

"No..."

"Yes. Now rest, Jimmy. You're still quite sick."

Kassel stands up then, looks at Deeks one last time, and then turns and exits the room, a small smile of victory and satisfaction playing across his lips.

These two law enforcement officers had come after him, deceived him and dug their way into his organization. They'd made fools of him, and turned his own best man against him.

For that sin, they would both pay dearly.

For that sin, he means to ensure that neither of them ever have another moment of peace or happiness.

Originally, death had seemed an adequate price to pay (and in truth, he'd have been happy if Agent Blye had died in that warehouse, but somehow, the second chance at her he's gotten is so much better), but betrayal is, in his mind, the greatest sin of all. Therefore, the punishment must be equally as horrific. A simple loss of life is too easy.

There must be more.

There will be more.

For both Marty Deeks and Kensi Blye, as far as Christopher Kassel is concerned, the worst is yet to come.

**TBC.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: This is by far the longest chapter, and yeah, it's a few days ahead of schedule. This one is fairly talky, but I believe necessary in order to understand where our heroes are mentally right now. Thanks for the reads and constant kind comments. All typos are mine. Enjoy.**

* * *

They say that time heals all wounds. In the case of NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye, "they" don't know what the hell they're talking about. Time may have healed the majority of her physical injuries, but it's done nothing to help the mental or emotional ones.

As she has almost every day for the last six months, she wakes up at just before four in the morning. It's still dark out, and as she lies in her bed, she listens to Monty, who is sound asleep at the foot of the bed (he's been living with her over since she took him from Eric, who had been watching him while she and Deeks had been undercover), snoring away peacefully. She envies Monty's supposed simplicity, wonders if he understand things such as guilt, rage, grief and loss. For his sake, she hopes that he doesn't.

About a half hour later, no longer able to pretend that sleep might return to her and no longer capable of just lying in her bed, she gets up, showers, and makes her way into her kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and a thin well-worn and faded black United States Marine Corps sweatshirt (it had belonged to her father years ago, and has seen her through more than a few tragedies). Thanks to the weight she's lost over the last several months, the sweatshirt hangs off of her.

She pours herself a bowl of Frosted Flakes, smothers it with low-fat milk, and then spends the next thirty minutes pushing the soggy mixture around with her spoon. She eats maybe two bites of it. Finally, resigned to the fact that she once again has no appetite, she puts the bowl on the floor and lets Monty finish it.

This is how it is for her (and Monty) most mornings, how it's been for her for the last six months. She's gotten pretty used to the no sleep and no appetitive routine by now, but that doesn't mean that she's adapted to or accepted it.

Every night, she goes to bed hoping that come daybreak, she'll wake up feeling like the Kensi Blye of old. So far, every morning has brought with it more of the same – exhaustion, the sting of loss and the ache of guilt.

She sighs, runs a hand through her still damp hair, and looks down to where Monty is licking in the corner of the bowl, trying to get to the last drop of milk.

"I think you got it all, boy," she chuckles. She reaches down, takes the bowl from him, brings it over to the sink, washes it out, rinses it and lays it on the drying rack. She glances down at her watch, sees that it's it just before six in the morning. That gives her enough time for a run and another shower.

And then a twenty-minute drive into downtown Los Angeles to meet with the Naval psychiatrist – Doctor Crosby - that had been assigned to her "case". Since her release from the hospital, she's been forced to go see him every two weeks for an hour at a time.

It's hell, and she hates it, but rationally, she understands the reasons behind forcing her to see him; her bosses – Vance and Hetty – want to know that she's okay, that her recovery is on schedule.

It's a bit of a farce, though, because everyone knows that it's not. Everyone knows that she's just going through the motions of pretending to heal.

On this morning, her mind isn't yet on Crosby. Instead, she's concentrating on the run that she's about to take. Preparing for it, she ties on her sneakers, straps on an ankle holster with a loaded .32, grabs a leash and then makes her way with Monty down to a running path about a quarter mile from her rented bungalow. She slips on her earphones, turns on her iPod (selecting a playlist full of excessively loud rock music), and starts into a steady jog down the trail.

At first, her mind spins with thoughts about anything and everything around her – it always does that – but eventually as the tempo of the hard rock kicks up, and musical notes fill her exhausted brain, everything else fades away. Everything but the feeling of her feet slamming repeatedly against the unforgiving pavement, and the beat of Van Halen echoing through her ears.

After returning to her bungalow about an hour and several miles later, she showers again - ever since what'd happened to her (she calls it that, too – "what had happened", never anything else), she's become somewhat OCD about showering. At least twice a day, sometimes even three or four times. It's almost like she feels like she can never quite get clean.

She's never told Dr. Crosby about this because she knows what he'd say. She knows that he'd tell her that she's suffering from some kind of posttraumatic stress disorder. In fact, he has told her this at least a half dozen times.

Each and every time, she's laughed. Out loud and pretty much in his face. She doesn't tell him why, doesn't tell him of the cruel irony associated with diagnosing her with PTSD. Then again, she's told her shrink very little.

And yet every other week, she shows up at his office as ordered and they dance the dance for sixty minutes. She tells him she's fine. He tells her he knows better. She replies that maybe he knows other patients, but he doesn't know her.

But of course, he's right, and she she's wrong and they both know it.

She's far from fine (or okay or all right or any other synonym of the word "fine" that anyone can come up with) but it's only in the darkness of her own bedroom and with the alarm clock on her nightstand again reminding her that she's awake at an obscene hour of the night that she's able to admit it to herself.

And usually only then because the headaches tend to start around that time.

In any case, she'll never admit any of this anyone else. Never to Hetty, never to the guys, and most certainly never to a man that she doesn't trust or even particularly like (no offense to Crosby, and with respect to Nate, but she doesn't quite believe in psychology or psychiatry. To her, they're bullshit snake-oil "sciences" and she has no use for them).

After her shower, she pulls her wet hair back into a loose ponytail, and changes into jeans, a white shirt and a gray zip-up hoodie. On her way out the door, she gives Monty a quick scratch behind the ears, and a kiss on the top of his head.

He's a good dog, an easy dog to love. A lot like his former master in that way.

She makes her way out to her Cadillac, and slides herself behind the wheel. She does a pre-flight check, and then starts up the engine.

She makes the drive to the office of her psychiatrist within twenty minutes, managing to use a series of side streets to bypass the majority of the nasty and congested Los Angeles morning traffic. For a moment, as she waits at a light to turn into the parking lot, her mind drifts back to who had shown her this route many months earlier (though he'd shown her it then not so she could go see a psychiatrist, but rather so that they could interview a material witness in a triple homicide case), but she quickly pushes the thought away.

Because he (she can't even bring herself to say his name because when she does, it brings on a whole load of emotions and memories) is off limits.

Completely one hundred percent off limits.

Even Dr. Crosby has figured this out by now.

"Good morning, Agent Blye," the secretary says as she enters. "Would you like some coffee?"

Kensi shakes her head, "No, thanks."

"He's ready for you then," the receptionist tells her with a bright smile.

Kensi nods and crosses the room, opening a door, and then entering the office of Doctor Thomas Crosby. A reservist in the Navy, Crosby is the go-to guy for extremely sensitive and difficult cases. As a general rule, anything involving NCIS OSP is sensitive. She assumes that she's what classifies it as difficult.

"How are you this morning, Kensi?" he asks, his voice soft. He's about as tall as Nate, but about ten years older than him, somewhere in his forties.

"I'm well, Doc," she answers, sitting on the couch across from him. As usual, her eyes flicker around his office, taking in pictures of him with family and friends. There's one on his desk of him with a woman and three young kids.

"You don't look like you slept last night," he mentions, his voice easy and conversational. She looks him over, taking in his business casual appearance. He doesn't look at all like a solider, and she rather doubts that he's spent much time (if any at all) actually firing weapons or taking enemy fire in the trenches.

While she would never be so arrogant as to dismiss him simply because of his occupation (or his lack of battle experience), she admits to herself (all while denying that this is just an excuse to keep her from opening up to him) that it is difficult to feel any kind of connection to a man who simply cannot begin to understand what she is going through.

"I slept," she replies simply.

"How many hours?"

"Enough," she shrugs.

"Enough," he repeats. "You know, enough is different for everyone. Some people can survive on four hours a night, while others need at least six or seven. My guess is that you're not getting either of those. Three maybe?"

She just looks back at him, her level gaze telling him that she's not interested in even pretending to have this conversation with him.

"Right," he nods, scribbling something down onto his notepad. She'd love little more than to grab that damned pad and huck it into a fireplace somewhere. Or maybe tear it into tiny little pieces and throw them all over his office.

"You're smiling," he notes.

"Am I?" she replies, realizing that she must have allowed some of her amusement at the idea of destroying his notepad surface.

"You are. That's a good thing."

"Great. Does that mean we're done here?"

He laughs. "Not even close. Today is a big one, Kensi. We have a lot that we need to get through."

"Well, Doc, you have…" she glances at her watch, "fifty-three minutes."

"Afraid not. I've cleared both of our schedules for the day."

"Excuse me?"

"You know what today is, yes?"

She takes a deep breath. She knows very well today is. She's great at remembering the anniversaries if the tragedies that line the walls of her life. "Yeah," she answers. "It's the six month anniversary of…what happened."

"Right. And as such, your agency – NCIS – well they want to know if you're ready to be released to full active duty."

"I am," she tells him.

He chuckles. "If only it were that easy."

"Never is. And what happens if you decide I'm not ready to return to the field?"

"Then we'll have to figure out what the next step for you will be at that time."

"What does that mean?" she asks, her voice thick with emotion – mostly anger. He'd be delighted to see any emotion at all from her normally, but over the last six months, he's seen sparks of this one. Just sparks, though, because she's always very quick to reign herself in. "Am I…am I in danger of losing my job?"

Saying those words aloud is enough to send a shockwave of panic through her. She feels her heart begin to pound, and has to forcibly will herself to calm down, to not lose control. Not here, not at all.

He puts down his notepad and leans forward. "You need to understand, your unit is currently operating at half-staff. Hetty has managed to keep it that way for the last six months, but even as impressive as she is, she can only delay things so long. Her superiors want the status quo restored ASAP. That means either you return to full field duty or…"

"Or I'm replaced. Got it."

"Which isn't what anyone wants."

"No, of course not," she answers dryly, clearly not believing his words. Then, her voice flat and showing almost no discernable emotion (even anger now), she says, "Tell me what do I need to do to get you to sign off on me returning to active duty."

"So you do want to stay with the OSP?"

"Have I given you any reason to believe otherwise?"

"Honestly, Kensi, you're a very difficult woman to read."

She smirks in response.

"You like hearing that?"

"In the job I do, being difficult to read is an important quality to have so yes, I like to hear it. It means I'm good at what I do."

"But there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

The smirk falls away, replaced by what he can only describe as exhausted resignation. "Doc, what do I need to do to convince you? Just tell me that, okay?"

He nods. "Okay. Fine." He picks up his notepad again. "It's actually pretty simple; I need you to talk to me."

"I am."

"No, you're not. You're talking as much as you ever do, and I think we both know that you're not actually saying anything. You know, I don't think I've told you this before, but when I was given this case, the first thing I did was speak to the psychologist that had been formerly assigned to your unit."

"Nate."

Crosby nods. "He told me that you wouldn't open up easily. He said that you'd spent most of your life keeping secrets and protecting them and having to be – and these are his words not mine – 'not only the toughest woman in the room, but the toughest man as well'. He told me that if I could get through to you, I ought to put myself up for an award of some kind."

She chuckles, but makes no move to correct Nate's words.

"He also told me that you would try every trick you know to keep me from finding out so much as what brand of toothpaste you use."

"He's right. Again, that's my job. If I'm an open book, I'll get made by the bad guys inside of five minutes, and then, Doc, people die."

"And I respect that to a degree. You're not the first undercover operative that I've ever worked with. I've debriefed more than a few agents returning from long missions. I know what you guys go through."

"You know on paper," she corrects.

"Fair enough," he nods. "But I do get what you guys do and why you do it. I also understand that keeping everything locked away might seem like the best way to protect yourself, but it's not. In my honest evaluation, Kensi, you are a ticking time bomb of emotion and anger and you will eventually go off. And when you do, you're going to end up hurting not only yourself, but most likely someone you care deeply about, someone close to you. One of your teammates maybe."

"So that's it? That's what you're going to tell my bosses?" she demands, eyes flaring with anger. The idea of her ever putting Sam or Callen in any danger infuriates her – and sickens her. Partially because he's probably right.

"No. Not yet anyway. I'm going to give you a chance to change my mind."

"By opening up and telling you what brand of toothpaste I use?" she spits out, disgust in her tone.

Thankfully, he ignores the tone and pushes on. She might be one of the most stubborn agents that he's ever had to work with, but she's far from the most damaged (though he has to admit, she is close judging by a read-through of her case file). He knows that the only way he pulls her through this is by staying patient and calm, and convincing her to open up and talk to him.

"If you'd like to start there, that's fine," Crosby replies. "But at the end of this conversation, I need to know that you're in a mental place that I think you can grow from. I need to know it, believe it, and be able to sell your bosses on it. If we can't come to that place together, then I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to recommend that you be reassigned to a different unit."

"Away from the OSP," she says quietly.

"Yes. Most likely you'd be reassigned to an office job. Perhaps in DC or in San Diego. Maybe that's not the worst thing in the world, Kensi. Maybe after all you've been through; a fresh start would be a good idea. "

"You're wrong," she says simply. "This is where I belong. This is…this is where I want to be."

And that's the truth. This job – even if she's still partially on the bench, not yet cleared for fieldwork - well, it's all she has left.

No, she corrects herself, it's not the job, it's the people.

Callen. Sam. Eric. Hetty. _They_ are all she has left, and the idea of not seeing them every day terrifies her more than she cares to admit to anyone.

"Then convince me of that.

She lets out a small sigh. "Okay," she says, throwing up her hands in surrender. "We'll do it your way, but…but I have some ground rules."

He seems surprised. "Ground rules?"

"Yes. No talk about my father. At all."

"Acceptable. While I think you have numerous unresolved issues related to his murder, they're not germane to the current situation."

"Also, nothing about my ex."

"Also not germane, but also unresolved."

She ignores him, and pushes on for the big one. "And _nothing_ about _him_."

"Detective Deeks, I presume?"

He sees her flinch in reaction to Deeks' name, and can't help but wonder how often she's heard it said aloud over the last six months. He wonders if her team has been willingly dancing around her issues, acting as though her former partner had never existed so as to spare her additional pain.

"Yes," she grits out.

"I'm sorry, but that one is off the table. Detective Deeks is entirely relevant to this discussion. In fact, I think your relationship and your feelings about what happened to him is a large part of why your recovery has been so…stilted."

She wants to tell him off, wants to insist that there's absolutely no way she'll talk to him about Deeks, but she knows that there's no point in even trying.

Right now, Crosby is the one in charge. He's the one holding all the cards. He's the one that gets to decide whether she can return to the job and the people she loves (and needs) or ends up being transferred to an office somewhere else.

"I don't want to do this," she says softly, almost petulantly. She hates that this man is going to be allowed to see her weak and vulnerable. She hates that she's not being given the choice. It reminds her a little bit of…

No. She stops that thought right there.

Since telling Nate the story of what Kassel had forced her to do in the apartment that she and Deeks had shared during the op, she hasn't spoken a word of the tale to anyone else. She has no desire to start now.

She can only pray that Crosby will leave it alone today as well, but she rather doubts he will. And honestly, right now, she's not sure what the bigger minefield is – the loss of Deeks or the time spent on the couch with Kassel.

With his hands on her and in her and oh God…

"Kensi?"

For a moment, all she hears is the pounding of her hears.

"Kensi?"

"Hm?" she blinks, pulling herself back to the now.

"Is something wrong? You look like…well you look like whatever you're thinking about has upset you."

She shakes her head. "No. It's…let's get on with this."

"Okay," Crosby nods, still watching her with some curiosity. "Then let's go backwards. Let's start with the day you were released from the hospital."

"We're going that far back?"

"I think we need to."

"All right. But…just…everything we say here, it's private, right? You won't…anything I say…you won't tell anyone, right?" She's practically pleading.

He offers her a smile, meant to calm her. "My report will simply state whether or not I feel as though you are fit for duty. I might gloss over certain issues such as your PTSD and your survivor's guilt," he pauses for the briefest of moments, watching as she opens her mouth to deny his words, but then quickly clamps it shut. He continues, "But I can promise you, I won't go into any detail. I will do everything I can to preserve your privacy. Sufficient?"

"I suppose it'll have to be, right?"

"I'm sorry," he says, truly feeling for the woman in front of him. He's been treating her for six months, and never has he seen her look as vulnerable, sad and utterly lost as she does right now.

"Aren't we all?" she replies. Then, reluctantly starting her story, she says, "Sam and Callen came to pick me up the day I got released."

* * *

_There are no triumphant coming home parties. Even if the gang had wanted to throw her one, they'd known that she wouldn't be receptive to it. And besides, considering the loss and supposed death of Deeks, her release is so far beyond bittersweet that it's almost on the sour side of the taste spectrum._

_On the day she's finally let out of the hospital, almost three weeks after she'd first been brought in, she's extremely tired and still in a considerable amount of pain thanks to her head injury and multiple broken bones, and she wants little more than to be sound asleep and completely ignorant of the world around her._

_The guys – Callen and Sam – come to get her. She can tell that she worries them both when she doesn't refuse the wheelchair exit as she's done so many times in the past. Callen pushes her out, and then Sam helps her up, sliding a hand just beneath her elbow so as to steady her on her feet._

"_Where's the Dodge?" she asks, looking around the parking lot._

"_We thought you'd like something a little roomier," Callen says, indicating towards a large black SUV. _

_She lifts an eyebrow, but says nothing. It's only after taking half a dozen steps towards the SVU when she realizes that Sam is pretty much walking with her, his hand still ridiculously close to her elbow as if to catch her should she suddenly stumble and fall. "Sam," she says, lifting her dark eyes up to meet his. _

_He smiles sheepishly in return, and she thinks maybe she sees some relief there. She knows these men well, knows that they're looking at her and hoping for some sign of the headstrong tough as nails woman they know and love._

_And though right now, the very last thing she wants to be doing is putting on a show for anyone, it's exactly what she does. For them._

"_Guys," she says to both of them, her tone gentle but firm. "I'm fine. Really. They wouldn't have released me if I wasn't."_

_Callen shrugs. "They released me before I was fully healed up." He points towards her head, where a bandage is still settled over the wound on the side of it. This bandage is much smaller than the one she'd been wearing during her first few days in the hospital, but it still reminds her of how very close she'd come to the end of it all. How very close to dead – or worse – she'd actually been._

"_Well, I heal quicker," she replies, offering him what she hopes is a cocky smile._

_It seems to work because he backs of a bit. He opens the door to the SUV, waits for her to get in, and then closes it behind her. He tosses a look over at Sam. Perhaps it's a hopeful one. Perhaps they're both praying that after everything they've lost thanks to this job, they haven't lost her, too._

* * *

_They get her back to her place, and settle her on the couch with a cup of tea and a bag of tortilla chips. She thinks their attention is sweet, but annoying. She's more than a little bit relieved when they both finally leave. The last thing Callen says before he exits is simply, "Get back to work. You're missed."_

_After they leave, she heads into her bedroom and sits on the bed. She looks around, feeling the emptiness and quiet of the room. Strange considering that she's never really shared this room with anyone (she and Jack had lived at another apartment entirely). And yet, she feels her partner's absence._

_Four weeks of sleeping beside him, four weeks of hearing him breathe next to her, four weeks of hearing him talk in his sleep at odd hours of the night. She'd never mentioned that to him, but then again, he'd never said a word to her about her habit of rolling into his arms on a few nights (something she'd woken up and realized she'd done one evening, but had kept to herself simply because talking about it with him would have forced her to find a way to stop doing it)._

_Four weeks of being side by side with him, and dammit If she doesn't miss him._

_It's at that moment when she decides that she's going to take care of Monty – at least until Deeks is found and brought home. She figures it's the very least she can do for her partner. The very least._

_After almost twenty of minutes of just sitting on the bed, she decides to try to calm herself down by taking a bath. She figures it will settle herself enough to be able to fall asleep. She loads up the warm water with bubbles, and slides herself in. It's then when she realizes that she's still clothed. She laughs loudly, the sound echoing off the tiles and the high ceiling of the bathroom. And as the sound boomerangs back to her, the mirth turns to pain, the laughers to dry sobs._

_The fit doesn't last terribly long, but by the time it's done, she's utterly exhausted and absolutely furious with herself. She brushes away the tears roughly, tells herself that she will not do that again, and climbs out of the bath. _

_She changes into pajamas, lies down, and tries to sleep. It doesn't go easy for her, though. Despite her release, Callen is right; her body is still in bad shape, and far from healed. The breaks in her bones remind of her of that all throughout the night. The worst of it, though, is the headache that comes on around two in the morning. It literally feels as though her skull is being torn apart._

_It takes everything she has – every bit of stubbornness, strength and will - not to grab at the painkillers that the hospital had sent home with her. She's set and determined that she's done using them. When she realizes that she's starting to give in to the need to just make the pain stop, she gets up and flushes them down the toilet. No temptation, and therefore no more weakness possible._

_Finally, exhausted by the sheer effort of trying to fight off the waves of pain (as well as the emotions which continue to try to surge forward, threatening to overwhelm her again), she passes out around four in the morning and sleeps for the next six hours._

_In the months to come, she'll wonder what it feels like to get six hours of sleep._

* * *

She watches as Crosby leafs through his file, stopping when he gets to her medical charts. "So you've had headaches from day one, yes?"

She nods.

"Have they lessened at all?"

"Somewhat," she says.

"Are you taking anything for them?"

"Excedrin every now and again."

"Does it help?"

She shrugs.

"I'll take that as a 'kind of' then?"

"Sure."

"Okay. So how long were you at home before you went back to the office? And yes, I know I have this all in my file, but humor me, all right?"

"Two months. My doctor wouldn't clear me before then because of the head injury, and the…heart issues."

"He was afraid you might have a reaction when the adrenaline kicked in?"

"Yes."

"But I doubt you'd exactly been hanging out on your couch for the whole two months you were on full medical leave. You probably worked out quite a bit."

"Had to stay in shape," she admits.

"Any issues with working out?"

She hesitates for a moment, clearly not wanting to respond.

"Keep in mind that I also have your medical file here. I know about second trip to the hospital."

She scowls then, showing clear annoyance (though he thinks he sees something else – maybe like relief? He wonders if there's some secret she's holding that's not in any of the files, something she plans to stubbornly hold onto). "Then why are we doing this?"

"Again, humor me. Your teammates found you, correct?"

She sighs again. "Yes. They overreacted."

* * *

_All it takes is seeing herself in the mirror to know that she's not in anything resembling fighting shape. She's lost a good amount of weight – which is a bad thing because she'd been pretty slim to begin with – and as of late, even a walk across the complex to the community mailbox has been tiring._

_Rationally, she knows that it's far too soon to return to her typical fitness regimen, but she just doesn't care. She has to get back in shape. She has to get strong._

_She has to be strong so that when the day arrives when she's able to come face to face with Christopher Kassel, she'll be able to pay him back for everything he's done and everything he's taken from her. And there's been so much._

_She changes into workout sweats – old ratty gray ones – and starts with sit-ups and push-ups. She presses, and forces herself to continue going even after the headache starts. Even when her vision begins to swim, she tells herself that she's just dehydrated, and she pounds down multiple bottles of water all the while knowing deep down that it's so much more than that._

_Things don't get really bad, though, until she pulls out the punching bag._

_Somewhere along the way, she becomes completely unaware of what she's doing or what's happening. She's just hitting the bag, over and over and over again, completely lost in the rhythm of her punches and kicks._

_Until her mind kicks in and she starts seeing the images in front of her eyes._

_She sees herself with him on the beach laughing like they don't have a care in the world. She sees herself walk into his arms when he realizes that he doesn't have the ability to damn their next door neighbor to a life of heroin addiction. _

_Then she sees Kassel, sees him above her, forcing her to keep eye contact with him when the only thing she wants to do is force her mind to be a million miles away. She feels his hands roaming her body, invasive and controlling._

_And then she's back with Deeks. He's holding her, pulling her close, his hands warm against the flesh of her back as he pulls her against his bare chest._

_Everything speeds up after that. Suddenly they're in the warehouse, and she sees herself being punched and hit. She hears Deeks saying her name. And then she's being dragged down a hallway. She hears the gunshots – only in her mind, she hears far more than just two of them, she hears dozens._

_That's when the pain in her chest starts. She knows right away that something is very wrong with her, and she wonders if this is what it feels like to have a heart attack. Suddenly, she can't breathe. She falls to the ground, gasping desperately._

_She thinks about her phone, which is across the room. She thinks about crawling to it, but even the thought of movement sends another shockwave running from her chest up to brain. Everything from her head to her heart feels like it's on fire._

_Her vision fogs over completely as the pain intensifies. She sees colors swirling, and she wonders for a moment if she's somehow been injected with another dose of heroin. It's not possible, of course, but the helpless agony of this reminds her a lot of those minutes lying on the cement floor of that horrible warehouse._

_Vaguely, somewhere in the distance, she thinks she hears the sound of a knock on her front door. She tries to call out, but no sound beyond a slight whimper finds its way from between her lips. There's another knock, and then the click of a key in the door. She hears it open, and then she hears footsteps._

"_Hey, Kensi, we brought you some…Kensi!"_

_She looks up and sees Callen above her. And then Sam. One of them is holding her, while the other speaks into his phone, barking out words that she can't understand. She feels a hand slip into hers. Desperately, she clutches at it._

_This moment is so familiar to all of them. For Callen and Sam, they were here just a few months ago, holding her in the middle of a warehouse as she shook. For her, it's a return to a moment of helplessness and absolute fear._

_Then, she'd called out her father's name. This time, she calls out for Deeks._

_It's the last time she'll say his name until she's forced to do so in Dr. Crosby's office several months later._

* * *

_When she comes to a bit later, she's back in a hospital bed, wires once again attached to her. _

"_Hey," Callen says, standing up the moment he sees her eyes open._

"_Callen?"_

"_Are you insane?" His voice sparks with anger._

"_What?"_

"_You're supposed to be taking it easy," Callen says, and she sees the worry deep in his blue eyes. _

"_I…I don't know what happened," she says softly. There's enough of a waver in her voice to make him back off. He can tell that she's scared._

"_What are you doing to yourself?"_

"_Callen, I don't know what happened," she repeats as she looks around the hospital room, still plainly confused. "One minute I was working out –"_

"_Which you shouldn't have been," Sam says from the doorway. He's sipping from a cup, probably filled with tea._

"_I had to. I couldn't just sit around and do nothing. I had – I have to get back in shape," she insists, her eyes moving between the two men, trying to make them understand why she needs this so badly._

"_You're clearly not ready," Callen tells her. "You had a panic attack."_

_"What?" she seems truly astonished by this. Panic is not a word that she has ever associated with herself._

"_Your heart is still not fully recovered from what happened to you. Nor is your head. Something…triggered this…and you panicked. If we hadn't been stopping by to bring you lunch, I don't…dammit, Kensi."_

"_No," she says shaking her head. "I don't…no."_

_Sam steps forward, taking on the role of the calm one because it's clear that for now at least, Callen isn't able to. "Kensi, you've been through hell. You need to slow down. You need to let yourself recover."_

"_We have to find him," she replies, for a moment not even bothering to pretend that it's about anything else. "And we can't do that if I'm on my back or relaxing on my couch. We have to find him."_

"_We're still looking for him," Callen promises. "Every moment of every day, Kens. We won't stop until we find him, but you're doing him no good by doing this to yourself. You're doing us no good."_

_She sighs and gives in. "Don't imagine we can keep this from Hetty, huh?" She offers up the best smile she can pull forward. It's not much, but then again, it's never taken her much effort to be able to charm and sweet-talk these two into doing just about anything she wants them to._

_Both men laugh. Callen shakes his head. "No chance, no way. She's out in the hall talking to your doctor. You'll be lucky not to have a nurse assigned to you when you get to go home again."_

"_You're kidding, right?"_

"_If he is, it's not because I didn't try, Ms. Blye," Hetty says as she enters the room, a stern look on her face. "Gentlemen, may we have a moment?"_

_The men exchange a worried glance._

"_What do you think I'm going to do?" Hetty asks, admonishing them with her tone. "Out, now."_

_Reluctantly, they turn and leave. Hetty shuts the door behind them, and turns to face the youngest member of her team._

"_I know," Kensi says, trying to cut her off. "It was too soon."_

"_And it is far too soon to lose another member of this family as well," Hetty says, her voice astonishingly soft. It's just about enough to break Kensi's heart._

"_I'm sorry," Kensi offers._

"_I know you are, dearie, and I know that you feel helpless right now. I do as well. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do, but hope for a break or a lucky turn. Until then, we need to stay alert and ready so that when the chance to get to Mr. Deeks arrives, nothing will stand in our way."_

"_That's what I was trying to do. Stay alert. Be ready."_

"_And that means allowing yourself to heal on the schedule your body wants it to heal on. No sooner, do you understand?"_

"_Yes."_

"_We need you back, Ms. Blye. I need you back." Hetty then reaches out and takes her hand. She doesn't squeeze it so much as gently pat it. And then, a smile snaking across her face, she asks, "Do you suppose we should raise our voices a bit, see if we can't worry Mr. Hanna and Mr. Callen?"_

_Kensi laughs. "I think we'll let them off the hook this time."_

_Hetty shrugs. "If you insist."_

"_Just this once."_

"_Fine. Gentlemen, you can stop leaning on the door and come in."_

_They enter immediately, both wearing guilty looks. "He was leaning," Sam says. "I was standing guard."_

"_Mm hmm. I need to be getting back to the office. I trust you'll ensure Ms. Blye is well taken care of?"_

"_You haven't already ensured that?" Callen asks with a slight smirk._

_Hetty just smiles in response, then turns and leaves._

* * *

"You spent just one night in the hospital for that one?" Crosby asks, again looking down at the medical file.

"Just one night," Kensi confirms. "And when I got sent home, it was with strict orders not to work out at all. Not until my person physician cleared me to."

"How long did that take?"

"Two months total."

"And then you were cleared for everything, but active field duty."

"Right. I could work out in the gym and the firing range, and help around Ops, but I wasn't allowed to go out and interrogate anyone or do anything that might require me to have to use my gun or chase anyone down."

"I expect that was hard."

She shrugs, which he's come to understand as the motion she makes when she doesn't really want to discuss something.

"Kensi."

"Yes, it was hard," she snaps back. "It was awful. I hate being inside and not being able to do anything."

"I'm sure that there's a lot to do around the office."

"Nothing I'm good at."

"And what do you consider yourself good at?"

She says nothing for a moment, her lips pursing into a thin flat line.

"Is this a difficult question?"

"No," she says finally. "It's just…I'd rather my answer be off the record. Completely. As in, no judgments, okay?"

"I'm intrigued. Okay. Go ahead."

"What I'm good at," she says softly, "Is killing. And I know how that sounds. And I know it's awful, but it's what I do best. I end lives."

"Interesting that you see it that way."

"I don't understand."

"What I mean is, you see it as taking lives instead of saving them. Why do you think that is?"

"I…I don't know. I guess we…I don't get to spend a lot of time with the people we save. We kill the bad guys or sometimes if they're lucky, we put them behind bars, and then the people who we save – if there is anyone – they just kind of disappear. No cards, no thank yous. They're just gone."

"Leaving you with?"

"More bodies."

He nods. "Does that weigh on you after awhile?"

"That's the weird part," she replies. "It doesn't. And I don't mean that in the 'I'm just not dealing with it' kind of way. I mean I don't spend a lot of time caring about these guys. They're usually monsters, and I don't waste energy on them. Does that…what does that make me in your mind?"

"You said no judgments," he reminds her. "But, from where I stand, you're doing your job as you need to. It's violent and often gruesome and you're all expected to basically suck it up and deal with it. You agents build up protective walls to absorb the emotional blowback of your actions, and for the most part, the walls work. Until something like what happened with you and Detective Deeks occurs, and then, well frankly no wall in the world can take on all of that."

"Right," she says softly. He thinks he sees a hint of moisture in her eyes.

"Let's talk about your first day back."

"Not much happened," she replies, pulling herself back together. She flicks a hand up towards her eyes, sweeping away the stray moisture. He pretends not to notice knowing that if he calls it out, he'll lose the fragile connection with her that he's started to form. "Just a lot of paperwork."

"Okay, then talk to me about your issues on the range."

He sees her jaw clench, and then she shakes her head, annoyance showing in both her suddenly screamingly loud body language and in her dark eyes. "I'm the best shot on the team," she tells him. "Or at least, I used to be."

* * *

_She stares at the target in her hand in disbelief, her dark eyes wide as she takes in the circular holes along the edges of the paper man. Usually they're dead center, signs of her nearly perfect (if not perfect) aim._

"_Looks like you're having an off-day," Callen says from where he's standing behind her, still close to the door of the room. He's stating the obvious, of course, his soft voice sounding slightly concerned._

"_I…"_

_Looking at the target with its holes off-center, she can't help but wonder if after everything that's happened, if she's lost one of the few things that she's always counted on. On this squad, she's always had two calling cards – her ability to seduce any man she wants to and her talent for taking out any target from just about any distance. She's always been the team's sharp-shooter._

_At least until today._

"_It happens," Callen tells her with a shrug meant to suggest that what they're seeing is no big deal. "You're still recovering from a pretty serious head wound, Kens. You just need a bit more time to heal and a bit more time in here, and your aim will come back. You'll be sniping again in no time."_

"_Yeah?" There's uncharacteristic doubt in her voice, and it infuriates her to hear it, but she can't quite keep it from seeping through._

"_Yeah," he assures her. He leans over her shoulder, stepping into her personal space. There are only a small handful of people she will allow to do this. Five total. And one of them is still missing in action. "That one's pretty close," he says, reaching out to touch one of the holes on the target._

"_Close," she repeats. _

"_It'll be okay," he says._

_She nods, choosing to believe him even if the voice in the back of her head – the one that has been chirping a lot lately - is insisting that he's just trying to make her feel better. That's what a team leader does, the voice says._

"_Now, pizza is here. Come eat."_

"_I'm good," she replies._

_His eyebrow goes up. "You're saying no to pizza? Since when?"_

"_I'm just not hungry," she laughs. _

"_Uh huh. What if we drip chocolate syrup all over it?"_

_He immediately regrets his words, seeing first a small smile and then a look of pained grief streak across her face. She's clearly thinking about him._

"_Kens…"_

"_I'm good. It's just…I'm gonna keep at it up here for awhile.."_

"_Okay. Pizza will be down there if you want it."_

"_Thanks."_

_He turns to leave, hoping that she'll call him back._

_She doesn't._

* * *

"And your aim, has it returned?" Crosby asks, still writing in his notepad.

"Not completely. I mean, I was able to qualify to carry, and my shot is still probably better than Callen's, but it's not what it was."

"Have you had any neurological exams to try to find out why?"

"No need to. Callen's right; I just need more practice."

"That's pretty much how you deal with everything, right? Push harder, keep pushing until you get what you want or where you need to go?"

"Always worked for me before," she replies defiantly.

"And does that help you get over your feelings about him? Does it help you come to peace with his loss?"

She purses her lips, but says nothing.

"Why is it so hard to talk about him, Kensi?"

She looks down at her hands, then says quietly, "He was my partner."

"Was. You believe he's dead?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"To my understanding, the official status of Detective Deeks is Missing in Action."

"It's been six months," she replies with a shake of her head. "Six months. If he is still alive, God only knows what that…what he's done to him."

"We're talking about Kassel now."

"Yes."

"Should we talk about what he did to you?"

"No," she snaps back, anger flashing. "You want to force me to talk about…" She takes a breath and then spits out, "Deeks…fine. But I have said all I am going to say about what happened with Kassel. I made the choice for the good of the op. I can live with that choice. Period. End of subject."

"And what if I tell you that you returning to duty depends on you talking to me about the attack. What then?"

"Well first, it wasn't an attack. Like I said, it was a choice."

"You don't see it as rape?"

"No," she practically growls. "And second, if my returns depends on me talking to you about that, then we're both wasting each other's time."

They stare at each other for a long moment, her eyes locked with his. Finally, he smiles slightly, and nods. "All right then, Kensi, why don't you talk to me about your panic attacks."

"Attack. I've only had one."

He tilts his head, letting her know that he knows better. He lifts an eyebrow.

"None of them are as bad as the first one was," she insists. She's tired and worn out. They've been at this for hours, and she's just about done. She's starting to get the point of no longer caring. "And I haven't had one in over a month. Not since the morning I had to re-qualify at the range. And that was just a small one, more like a…case of nerves."

"So, let's talk about your PTSD."

"I don't have PTSD."

"I find it interesting that you of all people would miss the obvious signs of it."

She meets his gaze evenly. "You agreed not to talk about him."

He smiles slightly. "All right, but would you admit that you have survivor's guilt?"

Her eyes flicker up to his. "He was my partner. It was my job to watch his back. I clearly didn't do that so yes, I have guilt over that."

"You were in it together. You almost didn't survive."

"But I did."

"And it's possible he's still out there."

"I hope to God he's not."

It nearly breaks her heart to say the words, but there's a strange and enormous sense of relief in getting them out and on the table.

"Why?"

"I said it earlier, Doc. If he's alive still, they've hurt him so badly. Sanchez said that they were going to try to flip him, but I know Deeks. He's a very good man. He's an incorruptible man. There's no way they're going to make him turn his back on us. Marty Deeks wouldn't do that. I know him."

"Which means?"

"Which means if he's still alive, Kassel is torturing him just for his own sick amusement. You don't understand that guy – he does things, he plays with people for no reason other than because he can."

"Like he played with you."

She flinches again.

"Direct hit," Crosby observes.

"We're not doing this."

"Apologies," he says with a wave of his hand. "You were saying about Deeks?

"You're a giant pain in the ass, you know that?" she snaps.

"Something tells me, Kensi, that you've been called that a couple dozen times in your life as well."

She smiles slightly. Then, growing serious. "I'm just saying, I hope…I think…I…it'd have been best if he'd died six months ago."

"And if he had, how would that make you feel?"

"How do you think it'd make me feel? He was my partner. And my friend."

"And more?"

She looks up and meets his eyes. He sees such sadness in her dark mismatched orbs, such pain and loneliness. Finally, quietly, "We took care of each other. That's all you need to know. That's all that's important, okay?"

"I can accept that," Crosby nods. "So, let's bring it back to you for now. Your aim is diminished…"

"It's still good."

"And there are still concerns about you having another panic attack."

"I told you, it's been over a month since the last one. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"I have my good days, and my bad days, but my physician has cleared me for duty. He says I can do the job. You're the only one who thinks I can't, Doc."

"No, Kensi, you misunderstand. I think you can do the job. I'm certain you can. I'm just not completely convinced that it's in anyone's best interests for you to do it. This job has taken so much from you."

"I knew what I was getting into."

"Okay. So tell me, if you could go back to that last day, what would you do differently? Would you have walked away when you had the chance?"

She thinks about that for a moment, thinks back to standing with Deeks in the doorway of the apartment, just seconds away from walking away from the mission. Then Sanchez had called, and she had convinced him to stay in.

Why?

Anger, fury, revenge?

All of those things, sure.

But duty, too. They'd had a job to do and walking away meant Kassel would get away. And yes, it'd been personal, but there'd been no doubt that the son of a bitch had to be stopped before he could hurt anyone else.

They'd failed in their duty, but not for lack of trying.

"I let my emotions get in the way," she finally says.

"So you would walk away if you could do it again?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "We still had a job to do. But if I could do it over, I think we both would have forced Sanchez to meet us on our turf, where we could control it. Both of us should have known that something was up – we were so eager to end it that we ignored the warning signs. Deeks did and I did."

"Okay," Crosby says, scribbling in his notepad again. Then he shuts it.

"What's that mean?"

"It means we're done for the day, Kensi. You've been here all morning, and you're clearly exhausted. Go home and try to get some rest."

"I do try," she says. "It just…doesn't come."

"And it might not for awhile yet, but eventually, the nightmares will go to once or twice a week instead of every night."

"With all due respect, Doc, you really don't understand what we do. I had nightmares long before this op. Sometimes every night. These…they're just a different movie, that's all."

"So why aren't you sleeping?"

She doesn't really have an answer to that.

"Is it because you see him in your nightmares, and you don't want to?"

"Depends on which him we're talking about?"

"Either."

She just shrugs.

"You're going to stonewall me now? Really?"

"You sound like him," she says softly.

"I assume this time we're talking about Detective Deeks?"

"Yeah." Then, blinking and shaking the thoughts of her partner away, she says, "So, what's the verdict? Am I headed for the NCIS office in Iowa or are you going to let me return to my team?"

"Iowa? That's a terrible place to send someone," he chuckles. "All right here it is; my inclination right now is to sign you off and let you return to duty, but with the condition that you continue to be held back from deep cover jobs." He holds up his hand to silence her when he sees her start to protest. "Considering that this was your first one in the two and half years that you've been with the OSP, I don't think that will be a problem. At least in the short term."

"I can handle the deep cover. I could handle it before and I can handle it now."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I have absolutely no doubt that you could force yourself to handle it, but that would be a grave disservice to you. Part of the healing process is accepting that something terrible happened, and dealing with it from there. Your deep cover case went bad - it happens in your line of work. For now, return to your comfort zone, and work your way back."

"So you're going to sign me off is what you're saying?"

"Yes."

She takes a moment to collect herself, and then finally says, softly, "Thank you."

"Thank me when the day comes when I say you don't have to come back next week," he says with a smile.

"Next week? Don't you mean two weeks from now?"

"No. I'm putting you on an every week rotation for now."

She shakes her head. "I'm not the open up type, Doc. That's not going to change just because you made me do it today. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about him. With anyone."

"Then we'll talk about other things. But you do need to talk."

"Is this more blackmail? If I tell you that all I'll do is stare at you for sixty minutes a week, are you going to pull back your recommendation?"

He chuckles again. "First, I'm insulted by the word 'blackmail' however appropriate and correct it might be. Second, no, this is for you. If you want to just stare at me, we can do that. On the other hand, I'm here to listen. If all you want to talk about is how much you hate filling out paperwork, we can do that."

"We'll see," she says. "I don't like this. I don't…I don't want to do it."

"I know. I'll see you next week."

She stands up, nods at him as if she doesn't know what else to say or do, and then heads for the door.

"Kensi."

She sighs, and turns back. "Almost made it."

"Almost. When you're ready to talk about what Kassel did –"

"Don't hold your breath, Doc."

"Understood. Have a nice evening. And get some sleep."

She nods once more, and then turns and leaves, getting all the way out this time.

* * *

When she turns her phone back on, she finds no less than half a dozen calls from the guys. Apparently, they'd been given a heads up on her session with Crosby. In their voicemails, Sam and Callen go from joking to worried.

Not in the mood to talk to anyone else on this day, she simply sends both a text saying, "Everything is fine. I'll see you in the morning."

Then she snaps off her phone, gets into her car, and drives home.

* * *

She gets home, and isn't at all surprised to find that she has anxious energy surging through her. Thankfully, Monty is eager for a walk. She takes him to the jogging path, and they go for a long five-mile run. She's once again glad for the fact that Deeks worked with this pup enough to build some endurance into the little guy. He goes as long as she does, never losing step or slowing down.

When she gets back to her bungalow, she pours him a bowl of water, and then disappears into the bathroom for a long shower. Thankfully, he's a dog, and he doesn't care that she's in there for almost an hour.

Standing in the shower stall, she wants nothing more than to be able to cry, to let all of the emotions out that are surging through her thanks to Crosby.

She feels her partner's loss deep in her bones, and the guilt and anger runs through her veins as poisonously as the heroin had previously.

She presses her hands against the tiles in front of her, remembering a time when she'd let the emotion come out, remembering how she'd smashed the wall in the bathroom of the apartment she and Deeks had shared after her…time with Kassel. She can still remember the sight of her bright red blood turning pink as it mixed with the water and swirled down the shower drain.

She wants to hit the wall now, but she doesn't dare.

She can't lose control; she can't afford to. She may have convinced Crosby to sign her off, but deep down, she knows that every time she allows her emotion to surface, she's just seconds away from another panic attack.

And she's dead certain that another panic attack will spell the end of her career with NCIS – at least with the OSP side of things. She'd survived today's hurdle; she has no intention of having to jump any other ones. Even if that means denying herself the right to grieve and mourn Deeks' loss.

She turns off the shower, takes a deep breath, pulls herself together, and steps out. Even in the quiet solitude of her own apartment, she has to be strong.

Anything less is simply unacceptable.

* * *

It's quite late at night (maybe two in the morning) and she's somewhere between half asleep and half awake when her mind registers the sound of Monty growling.

She comes to slowly – gone for now apparently are the days where she's able to come to her senses immediately – her vision darkened by the lack of light in her room. She looks down at the foot of the bed, and seems him crouched there, teeth barred, glaring and growling at the closed door of her bedroom.

"Easy, Monty," she whispers, standing up – perhaps a bit too quickly. As the blood rushes to brain, she steadies herself. She breathes her way through a wave of nausea as it momentarily overtakes her. She rests her hand on the side of her head, waiting for the sudden pounding in her skull to cease.

And then she hears what sounds like something crashing from the front room.

Monty barks.

"Shh," she urges. "Shh. Down boy. Be quiet. I'm going to check it out."

She reaches into the nightstand drawer, and removes her Sig, She checks it to make sure it's loaded, and then slides her hand to the doorknob. She turns it clearly, wincing when it creaks.

Moving as slow as possible, she steps into the hallway. She can feel Monty just behind her, his tail brushing her flannel clad legs. She feels the bite of the cold apartment air on her bare arms, and silently curses the tank top she's wearing.

About halfway down the hallway, she comes to an abrupt stop. Just up ahead, she can see a tall figure standing in the Living Room, appearing as though he's looking down at her couch. He's about six feet tall, definitely male. She thinks she can see the bill of a baseball cap.

She slides herself against the wall, reaching out with her hand to find the switch she knows is there. She counts to three in her head, and then flips it, illuminating the room in bright white light. She winces as the pounding in her skull intensifies.

The man, whose black leather jacket adorned back is to her, freezes. Beneath his feet, she can see a broken picture frame. The picture in it is one of a fifteen year old her and her father standing on a tarmac.

"Turn around," she demands, eyes squinted. She has her gun pointed at him. "Very slowly. Hands up."

Slowly, he turns, the cap still over his eyes. He's still somewhat draped in darkness, his features not quite distinguishable thanks to the hat and the lack of light. She notices that he's got a gun in his left hand.

"Step towards me and drop the gun."

"I don't think so," he replies, his voice smooth…and familiar. Too familiar.

For a moment, she feels like she can't breathe. It can't possibly be. It can't.

But then he steps forward, and she sees his face. He doesn't quite look like the man she remembers – this Deeks is painfully thin, his cheekbones standing out sharply, his skin slightly waxy. His hair is shaggy as always, but his beard is completely unkempt. In short, he looks like a drug addict.

"Oh my God, Deeks," she gasps.

"Hey, darlin'," he replies, like he doesn't have a care in the world.

For a long moment, they just stand there staring at each other, both of them still pointing their guns at each other. Then, finally, slowly, she lowers her weapon.

It's just about the stupidest thing she could have done, and dammit, she should have known better. He sees his opening, lifts his own gun, and pulls the trigger.

Later - much later - she'll realize that Deek's mangy little rescue dog had saved her from his beloved master. For now, though, all she is aware of is a bundle of fur flying through the air, teeth out. She sees Monty's jaws snap down, latching onto Deek's arm, forcing the gun, which had been aimed right at her heart, to jerk spastically to the side, causing the fired bullet to soar away from its target.

And thank God for that.

She feels a flash of pain in her shoulder and drops down to her butt, hand over what appears to thankfully be little more than a painful bullet graze. She feels blood streaming between her fingers, but pays little attention to it, her eyes instead on the struggle between Deeks and Monty just a few feet away.

After a brief tussle, she hears a whimper and sees Deeks toss Monty away. The dog hits the ground with a thud, dazed, but seeming otherwise all right.

She doesn't have long to think about Monty, though, because just seconds later, Deeks is standing over her, his gun again pointed down at her. There's an almost cruel smile on his face, one she doesn't recognize – or like – at all.

"Deeks, no," she says, unable to formulate much more than that. Her shock is so severe that it's almost completely clouding her brain.

"Sorry, honey," he replies, his finger once again on the trigger of his gun. "Oh, and by the way, my name's not Deeks. It's Reese, Jimmy Reese."

**-TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: First, let me say thank you for all of the amazing (and often passionate) comments that you've sent in. I've been overwhelmed. I appreciate the kind words, and in response, ask for your continued trust going forward - even through the dire moments. I assure you - I have a plan. Second, this chapter is again, very long (once again, the longest yet). Early on, I decided to just let my muse have free reign - he's the one telling the story, I'm just the typist. I apologize for any rambling (and possibly duplication of themes) as well as typos. Finally, this chapter deals with some violent themes so please, be forewarned. Also, note I am not a medical professional. I've made a ballpark attempt at accuracy, but for any pros out there, mea culpa.**

******Again, thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**  


* * *

NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye has lost count of the number of times that she's had a loaded gun pointed at her face over the last few years of her life. She figures that it's got to be well into the triple digits by now.

Each and every time it happens, there's a weird kind of…feeling that comes over her. It would be wrong to call it fear. No, adrenaline enhanced excitement is much more accurate.

Normally, it's exhilarating, and one hell of a rush.

Normally anyway.

This situation she's currently in – the one that has her lying on the floor of her Living Room, blood spilling down her arm from a nasty looking bullet graze on her shoulder – well it's about as far from normal (and exhilarating) as you can get. And what she's feeling right now? It's well past fear.

More like terror mixed with a liberal sprinkling of confusion.

All thanks to him.

Deeks. Marty Deeks. Only problem is, the guy standing over her with his gun pointed down at her, he doesn't think his name is Deeks. No, this high as a kite mean son of a bitch thinks his name is Jimmy Reese.

Also known as the college student turned drug dealer that Eric had invented out of thin air for the deep cover operation that she and Deeks had worked together on seven months earlier.

"Deeks," she says, a slight tremor in her voice. She kind of hates herself for the fear she's showing, but it's hard to mask it considering the situation.

Earlier that afternoon, as internally gutting as it had been for her, she'd all but admitted to her shrink that she pretty much figured Deeks for a dead man – had for many months now.

Turns out she'd been wrong. Turns out, he'd just been changed into someone else entirely – a completely different man.

"Told you, baby," Deeks laughs, and there's a kind of grotesque leer on his face, "Name is Reese. But you don't gotta worry about that for too long. In about thirty seconds, you're not gonna have to worry about anything ever again."

"You don't want to do this," she tells him, her eyes darting around the room, looking for something she can use to fight back with. Kicking out isn't really an option – he's just far enough away where she'd practically have to lunge. He'd have to be a horrible shot to miss her at this range.

He shrugs, "Don't actually care one way or the other."

She lifts her eyes to his, staring up and into beautiful blue orbs that she knows so well. They're bloodshot now, showing clear signs of exhaustion as well as lack of proper sleep and diet. She searches them for a sign of recognition, but sees none. He simply has no idea who she is or what she's supposed to mean to him.

"Wait…wait…before you…before you do it, tell me why you're here. Please?"

"To kill you."

She'd already pretty much figured that part out for herself, but for the sake of figuring out why, she plays dumb. "But you just said you didn't care one way or –"

"No, babe, I said I didn't care. My boss cares."

"Kassel." The name spits out from her lips almost before she can stop it. She feels a wave of ice water rush through her veins, and then a dull ache as her heart starts to hammer in her chest again. She hears the words "panic attack" echo through her skull, almost like some kind of creepy warning. As it does, she becomes acutely aware of the warmness of the blood sliding beneath her fingers.

"Yeah. Him. Dunno what you did to piss him off, but he wants you hurt badly."

"Yes, you do," she answers quickly, trying to keep him talking while she works on coming up with a plan to disarm him. "You know what I did to piss him off because we did it together. You and me, Deeks."

For the briefest of moments, she thinks she sees the dim light of recognition in his blue eyes. Maybe even a foggy memory caught in the weird bramble bush that is his drug (probably heroin knowing Kassel's business, she thinks to herself) soaked brain right about now.

"Deeks," she presses, emphasizing his name. "It's me, it's Kensi. Your partner."

He makes a strange flinching motion, and then laughs, the sound almost cruel. "No, no. I don't have a partner. I work alone." He aims the gun at her again, his finger sliding to the trigger.

Behind him, Kensi hears the soft whimper of Monty coming to, clearly still dazed from having been thrown across the room. Just the pained sound he's making is enough to tell her that he's been hurt far more than she had initially thought, which means that the brave little mutt will be of no further immediate help to her.

"Wait," she says again, her words coming out as more of a pained gasp as her breath catches in her chest. The warning bells are clanging louder now, telling her that if she doesn't get control of this situation – and herself – it won't be Deeks that she'll have to worry about, it'll be her own heart thanks to another panic attack. "You…you said your name was Jimmy, right?"

"Yeah. Jimmy. I thought we covered that." He's smiling at her still, the expression almost sadistic. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he was playing a part – just acting a cover, but her instincts are telling her otherwise. This is no cover; he really believes that he's Jimmy Reese.

The strange part (well okay, there's a lot strange about this, she admits) is, this man in front of her isn't the Jimmy Reese that Eric had created either. That Jimmy had been a bit of a wanna-be bad boy, but he'd pretty much whipped by Kara, and fairly devoid of any kind of mean streak.

It's clear to her that this guy standing above her is all mean streak. At least this hopped up on drugs version of him anyway.

"Then I don't understand why you don't recognize me," she says, her mind whirling as she tries to come up with the right words to properly play along.

"Why would I? Did I fuck you and forget about it?"

She flinches involuntarily, but then collects herself enough to force out, "Jimmy, baby, come on, it's me," she tells him. "It's Kara."

He blinks, and shakes his head, his demeanor suddenly changing dramatically. He seems a lot more like Eric's Jimmy now. "You said…you said…Kensi…"

"I said that because I had to become her. I was hiding from Mr. Kassel…you know what he's capable of, Jimmy. I got scared."

He stares at her, and this time, she does see recognition. Only he's not recognizing Kensi Blye, he's recognizing that vapid twit Kara Barstow. It's enough to break her heart right in two.

"You're dead," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "He told me you were dead."

"I had to make him think that so he'd leave me alone. I thought you were dead, too, baby," she answers, and this time, she's not really acting even if she using a term of endearment that she can't ever see her using for or with Deeks. No matter what relationship they might ever have.

The next thing he does surprises her completely. He drops down next to her, the gun at his side, and then he reaches out with his hand and ever so gently touches her face. She feels his thumb trace her jawline. The gesture is so incredibly loving and deeply emotional that it would almost be touching if either Kara or Jimmy were real people.

"Kara," he whispers, and then without further warning, he leans in and kisses her. She hadn't been expecting it at all, but she's quick enough on her toes to play along, and besides, he's kissing her with so much passion and force that it's almost impossible to resist without a show of violence.

Which would probably result in an equal show of violence from him. Not a good idea – at least not yet. So instead, for the moment, she focuses on him.

And the kiss.

Oh, the kiss. It feels good – really good if the truth be told– but underneath her rather embarrassing enjoyment of it, she can still feel fear slithering through her like a predatory snake about to strike. She can just about hear her heart slamming away in her chest. She knows then that time is short. She has to stop this. She has to get control of this before he does something he can't undo.

Like kill her.

So as he continues to kiss her, his tongue pressing into her mouth and oxygen quickly becoming an issue for both of them, she moves a hand around to the back of his neck, massages it for a brief moment, and then with sudden violent force, she drives her fingers – nails and all – into his soft skin and muscle.

He howls in pain and pulls away, the gun dropping from his hand as he reaches back to grab at his now bleeding flesh. She doesn't give him time to react or really even to absorb what she's done to him. Instead, she sweeps out with her leg, and drops him flat on his back. A hard follow-up kick to the face, and he's in serious agony, wincing through eyes filled with blood and probably tears.

She dives for her gun, grabs it, and then standing above him (bitterly musing on how their positions have abruptly changed), she takes time to kick his gun (a rather cheap street piece – not the kind Deeks usually carries) away.

"Don't move an inch," she says. "Or I will shoot you." She lowers the gain and aims at his crotch. She knows that she'd never shoot _him_ there, but if Deeks really doesn't remember who he is, then he doesn't know that.

"Kara," he gasps out, a hand waving in the air, as if reaching for her. She almost feels bad for him – for his apparent confusion. Almost.

She shakes her head. "I'm not Kara and you're not Jimmy, and I promise you – Deeks -, we're going to get this figured out, okay?"

His expression changes from confusion to rage. "I'm going to kill you, you fucking whore," he hisses even though he's not a terribly threatening figure lying on the carpet, his gaunt face covered in blood.

"Yeah, you already tried that," she replies dryly. "And I'm going to remember you called me that. You're going to be apologizing for it for a very long time."

He grunts something crude in response, but she's already tuned out his words. She turns her head slightly to the side, looking around to see if maybe there's a pair of handcuffs nearby. He mistakes her glance away for lack of attention, and chooses that moment to try to attack her again.

She pays him back by driving her bare foot – heel first - into the middle of his crotch. Perhaps frustration and fear overtake her for just a moment because she steps on him hard enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. His head hits the ground with a hard thud and he lets out a loud pained squeal of pain.

And then she pushes down just a little bit harder, and shoves her heel in just a little bit deeper. He gasps, and stops moving, momentarily blacked out thanks to the intense pain he's in.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, feeling a thousand different conflicting emotions (anger, guilt, fear, shame) surge through her. Looking around again, and finally seeing cuffs on a table near the door (what are they doing there, she wonders to herself), she grabs them, and quickly cuffs him, hands behind his back.

She makes her way back into her bedroom, picks up her iPhone, walks back into the Living Room (so she can keep an eye on Deeks-Who-Thinks-He's-Jimmy). Just as she's about to tap Callen's name in her favorites list, the cell buzzes. The LCD screen of the iPhone shows Callen's name. She hits the ACCEPT button.

"Callen…" she starts.

"Are you all right?" he cuts her off. He doesn't let her reply, just continues on, his words a breathless stream of worry. "Eric just said there was a report of shots fired at your bungalow. There are cops on the way."

She looks at her arm, then down at Deeks, who has somewhat regained consciousness, but is still on the ground, utterly consumed by the pain he's in.

"Just one shot," she clarifies.

"Are you –"

She cuts off the question with, "How far out are they?"

"You have a little bit of time," he tells her. "There was a pretty big gang shoot-up about a mile from your place. Most of the cop cars are still there trying to sort everything out. You probably have a half hour or so before they roll over your way. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm…fine. Really. But…you need to get over here. Now. Before the cops do."

"Why?"

She takes a breath, and then says softly, "Because Deeks is here. And he just tried to kill me."

"What?"

"Get Sam and get here. Now."

"We'll be there in twenty," Callen replies, choosing wisely not to bother with any further questions. At least not yet.

"Ten, Callen. Be here in ten. I don't want to have to try to explain this to the LAPD. They'll try to take him. We can't let them take him. You understand?"

"No."

"Just trust me, please."

"Always, Kens. I'm on my way."

The line goes dead. For a moment, her mind circles on Callen telling her that he'd always trust her – an amazing statement from a man who trusts so few people. Perhaps, on a different day and with different issues at hand, she'd allow herself time to really dwell on the nature of trust.

And family.

And love.

But for now, all she can think about is him.

Deeks.

And then she laughs because in the end, Deeks (and her relationship with him) is about all of those things. Trust, love, family. All of them and so very much more.

"What the hell has he done to you?" she whispers. She wants to drop down, and touch him. She wants to run her hands over his bearded face, feel his skin and confirm for herself that he's really there, but she doesn't quite dare.

For one, this man isn't exactly Deeks right now, and even hurt and in pain, he's still dangerous enough that if she were to give him an opening, he could make her pay for it – likely with her life. She'd already done that once by lowering her gun – she has no intention of making the same rookie mistake twice.

For two, her wounded shoulder is starting to seriously smart right about now. Bullet graze or otherwise, it hurts like hell.

Yeah, probably not a good idea to go to Deeks right now. Not a good idea at all.

So instead, after grabbing a dishtowel out of the kitchen, she makes her way over to Monty. "Hey, buddy," she says, dropping down next to him, her gun still pointed at Deeks' fallen form. He's moving a bit more now, but mostly he's still rolling from side to side, still trying to absorb the groin shot. If it was anyone but Deeks, she'd actually be proud of herself for such a brutal hit.

She feels no such pleasure in hurting him.

Monty whimpers pathetically as she runs her hands over him, checking his bones. She grimaces when she comes to his front left paw, which is bent at a nasty angle. "Oh, baby," she whispers, running her fingers as lightly as she can over the clearly broken bone. It's a sign of how much he trusts her that he doesn't flinch away from her or show any aggression at all. "Your Daddy isn't okay right now, Monty. He's just not. He didn't mean to hurt you. But he is going to owe you lots of treats for this one. I'll make sure he pays up."

He answers by whimpering again, and then putting his head in her lap. She slides the fingers of one her hand into his fur, sighs loudly, and then leans back against the wall behind her. She places the dishtowel against her shoulder, slowing the flow of blood. As she does, she listens to the sound of her heart beating, then focuses on her breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

She takes control of herself, forces the panic back, refuses to let it win.

Refuses to not be strong.

For herself. For him.

Right now, he needs that more than ever.

* * *

It's almost exactly ten minutes later when she hears a hard quick knock on the front door of the bungalow. A moment later, the door opens and Sam and Callen enter, both of them wearing expressions of concerns.

"Hey," she says tiredly as she pushes herself to her feet. She drops the bloodied dishtowel to the floor, leaving it a few inches away from Monty.

"Are you all right?" Sam asks immediately, his eyes flying up and down her, doing a quick field check of her. Normally, this would annoy her, but right now, she understands his need to ensure her safety enough to let it pass.

"Fine," she says. She indicates (reluctantly) towards her wounded shoulder. "He shot me, but it's just a scratch. Just stings a little is all."

"We should still get you checked out," Callen tells her.

"Later," she replies dismissively, and both of the guys know immediately that she has no intention of spending any time in a hospital tonight. She turns and points into the Living Room. "He's in there." A spray of moonlight shines in through the glass side-door, illuminating Deek's fallen form.

"Why'd he shoot you?" Sam asks.

"Apparently he thinks he's Jimmy Reese."

"What?" Callen demands, peering around her. Deeks is still moving around, still not quite able to get his balance back. Every time he tries to sit up, he falls back.

"He believes that his name is Jimmy Reese. He thinks that he was sent here by Kassel to kill me." She points to her arm. "Which he tried to do as you can see."

"How'd he get in?" Sam asks, touching her arm.

"He picked the lock, and shorted the security system. He surprised me completely. And he probably would have killed me, too," she admits (hating that she has to). "Monty saved me." She gestures towards the pup, who is watching the three of them with wide pained eyes. As if hearing that they're talking about him, he whimpers. "Front left leg is broken. Looks like a compound fracture."

"I know a guy who can help," Callen says, eyes flickering over towards Monty.

"You know a Vet?" Sam asks.

"Didn't say he was a Vet, just said he could help."

In spite of everything, Kensi snorts. "Uh huh. No. Once we've secured Deeks, I'll take him over to an animal hospital. You know, where actual Vets can help him."

"Have it your way," Callen shrugs. Then, looking over at Deeks, he asks, "What'd you do to him?"

She smirks then, "Kicked him in the…Nom de plumes."

"Harsh," Sam says.

"He shot me. I owed him. And I didn't really kick him. I more…stepped on him."

Callen and Sam exchange a semi-amused (if slightly pained) look. Then, "So what's your plan?" Sam queries. "Cops will be here soon."

"I know. I need you guys to take him back to the Boatshed. I'll deal with the cops, and then I'll take care of Monty and meet you guys back there."

"Kensi…" Callen starts, his eyes on her shoulder.

"Call Hetty. Tell her find Nate. Whatever it takes, we need him back here."

Callen nods. "All right, fine. How are you going to explain the gunshot wound?"

"I'm not planning to." She looks around the room, and sees her father's USMC sweatshirt flung over the couch – where she'd left it the morning before. She pulls it on quickly, effectively hiding the wound. Before Sam and Callen can protest (and she can tell that they're both about to), she says, "I'll let Hetty check it out as soon as I get back, but it's nothing, I promise."

"And Monty? How you going to explain his injury?"

"That part is easy. I thought I heard someone in my house, I walked out with my gun, I tripped over my dog, and accidentally fired. He got hurt, no one else did."

"You lie too well," Sam notes, and maybe there's a hint of sadness there.

"Yeah, maybe. Get him out of here."

They nod and step towards him. "Come on, Deeks," Sam says, sliding an arm under the confused blonde man. He takes in the gaunt look of the cop, and sees the sure signs of severe drug addiction. It's enough to break the heart of even a tough guy like former NAVY SEAL Sam Hanna.

"Jimmy," Deeks grits out. Then, looking around, his eyes settle on Kensi. "Uncuff me, bitch, and let's go again, huh?"

Before Kensi can reply, Sam tightens his hold on Deeks, digging his fingers into the blonde man's arm. "That bitch just ensured that you won't have kids for a few years," Sam growls. "Now show some respect before I finish the job for her."

"Sam," she whispers, wanting to tell him to ease up.

"I got him," Sam tells her, his tone telling her that he understands what she's trying to say, but that he has no intention of letting anyone insult her. She appreciates the sentiment even if she doesn't really feel like she needs it.

She watches him drag Deeks from her bungalow, her face showing the sadness and horror of the situation. It's almost too much.

"You okay?" Callen asks.

"Fine." It's an automatic response.

"Kens…"

"Just take care of him, please?"

"You know we will."

For a moment, she says nothing. And then, quietly. "I've never…I don't know what to do here, Callen…how do we…"

"We'll figure it out," he promises, turning to face her. He forces her to meet his eyes. "We've got Deeks back now. We're not going to lose him again. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now it sounds like the cops are finally on their way here – I think I can hear sirens. Take care of them. Take care of Monty. We'll take care of Deeks, and we'll meet you back at the Boatshed."

He's simply repeating what she'd said a few minutes earlier, but somehow, right now, he's saying what she needs him to say. He's giving her a plan of attack. Right now, more than ever, she needs that.

She simply nods.

* * *

The cops are easier to deal with – and make go away - than seems right (or safe). They believe her story completely, and then, much to her surprise, they even offer to escort her to the Emergency Veterinary Hospital a few miles away. She politely declines the offer, and apologizes for wasting their time.

Afterwards, she drives to the Veterinary Hospital, and checks Monty in for the night. She hands over her cell number, and then authorizes them to do whatever they need to do in order to help him. In this case, that means surgery to repair the compound fracture in his left leg.

Before she leaves, she hears the words she needs to – the first good words she's heard all night. "He's going to be fine," a kindly nurse tells her.

She feels relief flood through her. She hopes to God that this isn't just the calm before the proverbial storm.

She's pretty damn sure that it is.

* * *

She arrives at the Boatshed at just before five in the morning. She's tired, and the vast majority of her adrenaline has worn off, which means that she can now feel the sharp stinging pain in her injured shoulder.

"How is he?" she asks as she enters. She looks up at the LCD, which shows Deeks sitting on the floor in the interrogation room, head resting against one of his no longer cuffed hands. He's trembling and twitching now, in need of a fix.

"Pissed," Callen replies, pressing a cup of hot coffee into her hands. She nods a thank you to him, and is rewarded with a small smile.

"And sore," Sam says with something of a smirk. He indicates towards an ice pack that's lying in Deeks' lap, held there by one of his shaking hands.

"He looks like he's coming down from the Prince Charming pretty fast," she says. "Has he had any muscle spasms yet?"

Both guys eye her curiously. "Not yet," Callen finally says.

"Probably means he took his last hit only a few hours before he came to kill me." Seeing their looks, she sighs, and decides just to answer the question that they don't seem quite able to ask. "Not sure if you guys remember the briefing about this stuff, but it's almost instantly addictive – especially in the dosage they gave me. I was in the hospital and completely out of it for all of my withdrawal period, but afterwards, I did some reading up on it. I just…needed to know what had been put into me, and what I'd gone through."

"Ah," Callen nods. "Never done heroin," he adds cryptically. Both she and Sam know better than to bother trying to get him to elaborate; he simply won't.

He still calling me names?" Kensi asks instead.

"More than a few," Sam grunts, clearly unhappy about this.

"It's fine," she says him with a smile. "Did you guys call Hetty and Eric?"

"Yes on Hetty, no on Eric," Callen replies. "That's not much he can do here except worry. Nothing to type, nothing to look up."

"Right," she replies. "Is Hetty already here?"

"I'm right here, Ms. Blye," Hetty says as she comes around the corner, her heeled boots lightly clipping the ground. "If you'll please remove your sweatshirt."

In spite of everything, Kensi almost cracks a lame joke – one that Deeks (the real Deeks) would be proud of. Instead, she reaches down and pulls the USMC sweatshirt off of her, which leaves her in just the tank top that she had worn to bed hours earlier. Forced to raise both arms in order to move the now bloodied sweatshirt up and over her head, she reluctantly allows a small hiss of pain to escape from between her tightly clenched teeth.

"Sit, please," Hetty orders. Kensi does so without protest. A moment later, she feels the sharp sting (and bubble) of disinfectant as Hetty begins to clean and probe the wound. It hurts – ridiculously and somewhat embarrassingly so – but she just clenches her teeth tighter.

Unfortunately, Sam and Callen notice. And they're grinning at her.

"Shut up," she mutters, barely moving her lips.

"Monty okay?" Sam asks.

"He will be."

"Good. So just a scratch, huh?" Sam says, watching as Hetty continues to clean the wound, exposing slightly more damage than Kensi had realized.

"A deep scratch," she amends. Then, to Hetty, "What about Nate? Were you able to find him?"

"Yes. We're in luck," Hetty says. "He's in town already. He'll be here shortly."

"Why's he in town?" Callen queries, eyebrow lifted.

Kensi chuckles humorlessly. "Probably for me. Let me guess, you wanted him to verify Dr. Crosby's assessment of me being ready to return to the field?"

"No, my dear, I wanted him to make sure that _you_ are all right. Director Vance cares about your field readiness. I care about _you_." She says it so gently, and with so much sincerity that it's almost too much for Kensi.

The last twenty-four hours have been hellish in regards to her emotions. It's clearly not getting any better. A glance up at the LCD, and she knows damn well that it's not about to get better anytime soon.

"Right," she mutters. She turns her attention back to watching Hetty clean the wound. Her eyes focus in on the bright red blood that is still dribbling down her arm. As she does, it's almost like a strange sort of tunnel vision overcomes her. For a moment, all she can see is the blood. She can hear Sam and Callen talking, but their words are gibberish to her. All she sees is the red.

"Kensi?" she hears, and it sounds like Callen.

"Hm?" she says after a moment, blinking and looking up.

"I…asked you if you were hungry."

"No," she says with a shake of her head. She looks over at her shoulder, sees that there's now white gauze around it, and asks, "Am I good to go?"

"Yes, though I don't think you'll be throwing any punches with this arm for a few days," Hetty tells her with a small smile.

"We'll see," Kensi replies with a much smaller smile. Then, "Nate's on his way, right? But still a few minutes out?"

Hetty nods. "Why?"

"I…I think…I need air."

And then, without waiting for anyone to tell her to go ahead (as she knows they will), she stands up, grabs a jacket off of one of the chairs (the jacket is Sam's so when she puts it on, it seems to dwarf her), and then exits the Boatshed.

"Leave her," Hetty says before either man can move. "If we're going to pull Mr. Deeks through this, he's going to need her more than anyone else. She's going to have to be strong for him, which means that she needs to be strong for herself. Let her have this. At least for now."

Reluctantly, they do.

* * *

It's early in the morning, and the sun isn't yet up, but there are already surfers on the beach and in the water. She sits down in the sand and watches them, thinking about a time several months earlier – during the undercover operation - when she'd watched Deeks surf.

That hadn't been the first time she'd watched him surf. Far from it really.

* * *

_She knows that one of these days, he's going to get them both in a lot of trouble by doing this. And she knows that it's likely that she'll be the one catching the majority of the heat simply for allowing him to do it._

_And yet, it's a lovely late Fall afternoon, and the thermometer is still close to eighty-five, and so when he suggests pulling over on the way back to Ops, she finds herself doing it with only the most cursory of protests._

_They've only been partners for a few months now, and __still, she gets the feeling that he's learned how to get what he wants and needs from her. That she's allowing him to take a surf break in the middle of the workday (and in the middle of an active homicide case), well that pretty much proves it. _

"_Hey," he says, as he climbs out of the backseat of the car. He's changed into a pair of board shorts, and a gray tank top. "Want me to rent you a board?"_

"_Nope," she chuckles. "You're breaking the rules, not me."_

"_Ah, but you're letting me break the rules. Makes you an accomplice."_

"_Mm," she says. "Go surf."_

"_That sounds suspiciously like enticement to commit a crime."_

"_Whatever," she laughs. It always amuses her when he starts breaking out the legal jargon. She doesn't know much about his short past as a law student, but something tells her that if he had chosen to stay on that path, he would have ended up being a very good lawyer indeed. Not that she would ever tell him that._

"_You sure you don't want to join me?" he asks again. _

"_Nope, I'm good right here."_

"_Uh huh. Admit it, you're just afraid that you won't be perfect your first time out. And that kind of drives you nuts, doesn't it?"_

_He's right, of course, but she has absolutely no intention of letting him know that._

"_Deeks," she warns. "If you don't stop annoying me, I'll leave you in the water, and let you walk back to Ops and have explain why you stopped for a surf break in the middle of a case."_

"_You wouldn't."_

"_Oh, Deeks."_

"_You totally would," he nods. "Fine, fine," he says with a wave of his hand. "Have it your way. You can watch. I think you'll enjoy the view."_

"_Yup," she replies easily. "There are some beautiful men out there."_

"_Sometimes, partner, you're just mean."_

_Her only response is a half smirk-half grin. It's beautiful, and just a little bit scary._

_He turns and walks down the beach. A few minutes later, he's out on the water, crouched on his rented surfboard, waiting for the wave to crash towards him._

_Despite her words about__ the other surfers, he's the only one she watches._

* * *

As the memories hit her hard, she puts her head into her hands, and feels a few tears escape and slide down her fingers. Her body shakes as she silently cries. For the second time on this terrible night, a massive part of her wants to come apart completely, wants to let everything out.

She didn't do before, though, and she sure as hell won't do that, though. Even this feels like too much.

She allows it simply because she can't stop it. And because she's pretty much alone, and no one (the surfers are too far away) can see how weak she really is.

The tears don't last long, maybe only a couple minutes. When they're done, she pulls herself together, and brings her knees up to her chest.

She watches the sun rise. It should be an amazing event, the beginning of a new day. It should bring promise and hope and serenity and all of that other Zen crap.

It brings different things for her. Sadness and loss and loneliness.

And determination. That, too.

The sun reflecting brilliantly off water the color of his eyes, she makes a solemn promise to herself, tells herself that whatever she has to do, whatever it takes, she'll pull Deeks through this.

* * *

Nate has already arrived and been briefed by the time she returns to the Boatshed about an hour after she'd left. As she steps inside, she can hear him talking to the others, discussing the details of their rather dire situation.

"Have you ever dealt with anything like this before?" Callen asks.

Nate nods. "I helped out with an undercover DEA agent."

"Is this case like that one?" Sam asks, knowing full well that most people would have asked questions about whether or not it had worked out for the DEA agent. Subconsciously, he knows the reason he doesn't ask is because he's afraid of the answer. What if the attempt had failed? What then?

"I won't know until I talk to Deeks."

"Then talk to him," Kensi says, slowly stepping into view. The foursome turn to face her, all of the men wearing matching expressions of worry. It's almost funny.

"You good?" Callen asks, and his look seems to say that he's not interested in the usual lies and lines.

"Yeah. My arm hurts, and I feel like an idiot, but I feel better. Really." She meets each of their eyes one at a time, desperate to make her point.

It's Hetty who then turns to Nate and says, "Talk to him."

"Okay, but no video," Nate states.

"What?" Kensi demands. "Why?"

"I don't know what he's going to say. Probably not much at first, but I just don't know. For right now, he's a patient without a course of treatment. And…and we know he's been through a lot. If it were any of you, you might not want everyone to know what you'd been through."

"I didn't have a choice," she says quietly. "You made me tell every part of the story." There's no doubt about which part she's thinking about when she says that, and immediately, Nate feels awful (as he had then as well).

"I know," he tells her.

"Nate, he's my partner," she insists, trying a different angle. "I should be the one helping him through this." There's anger and frustration in her voice.

"And you most likely will, but just…let me talk to him. Just him and me, okay?"

"Do what you need to do," Sam says. "We'll be out here waiting to do what we need to do." He looks at Kensi. "And we'll do whatever we need to."

He has no idea that he's echoing the promise she'd just made to herself.

"I know you will," Nate agrees. He reaches up, flips the LCD off, and then turns and walks into the Interrogation Room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"Hi, Jimmy," Nate says as he enters the room. Deeks is still on the ground, the now useless ice pack still resting against his wounded crotch. When he looks up to acknowledge Nate's presence, Nate sees the beads of sweat covering his furry cheeks. He reaches out, takes Deeks' left wrist, and checks his pulse, even though he already knows what he's going to find.

Withdrawal – even the early stages of it – is a real bitch. For everyone involved.

"How are you feeling?" Nate asks, using his watch to time Deeks' pulse.

"I need something," Deeks replies with a small nervous laugh. "Just a little."

"I know," Nate nods. "And maybe when this is all over, I'll be able to get you something that will help you feel better."

"That'd be good," Deeks replies. "Real good."

"Tell me about yourself, Jimmy," Nate suggests as he puts down Deeks' wrist.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Tell me about what you've been doing for the last six months."

He shrugs. "This and that."

"You've been working for Mr. Kassel?"

Deeks looks up at him sharply, fear shining in his eyes. "What are you? LAPD?"

"I'm not a cop. I'm a psychologist. My name is Nate Getz."

"Nate," he says, turning the name over.

"You recognize me? My name maybe?"

"I…" and for a moment, it's clear that he does. But then, oddly, he winces, as if he's suddenly in a great amount of pain. Absently, one hand reaches out and scratches at his left arm. Nate can see several small prick marks there – signs of recent and continuous heroin use. "No. I don't know you. Should I?"

"Yeah," Nate replies. "We know each other."

"No…no we don't."

"Yes, we do, Deeks. Marty Deeks. That's who you are."

"No. No." There's an almost frantic nature to his words. And dammit if he doesn't sound like he's terrified. "You have to…you have to stop saying that. Okay?"

"Okay, okay," Nate agrees, holding up his hands as if to surrender. "Then how about we just talk. Just you and me. What do you say?"

Deeks' only response to Nate's question is to scratch his arm again.

Nate sits down on the ground, just a few inches away from Deeks. There was a time when he wouldn't have dared to get so close, but now, after all the day and weeks and months spent in the worst places in the world thanks to the missions that Hetty has been sending him on, he finds that he's afraid of little these days.

No, that's not quite true.

He's still afraid of a whole lot – just very little of it physical in nature.

Mostly, just as Kensi had told him so many months ago, he's afraid of receiving that phone call – the one that tells him that one of his friends is dead. He fears that call more than ever these days because as his skill with a gun improves, he understand just how easy is it to take a life and lose one as well.

"Tell me about Mr. Kassel, Jimmy," Nate suggests, his voice gentle and conversational.

"No. Can't."

"Why not?"

"We're not supposed to talk about the Boss to anyone. Snitches get stitches. That's what Alejandro always says."

"Who's Alejandro?" Nate asks, even though he knows. Per his previous conversation with Kensi while she'd been in the hospital (and confirmed by Lieutenant Sanchez – the inside guy who had eventually betrayed Deeks and Kensi only to find himself back in NCIS hands and now locked away in extreme solitary confinement in order to keep him "safe" from Kassel), Alejandro was Kassel's chief thug. Not terribly bright, but a real mean son of a bitch.

Deeks shrugs, suddenly looking very nervous and uncomfortable. He scratches at his arm again, opening up a scab there, and causing it to bleed. Nate makes a mental note to himself to grab a first aide kit the next time he leaves the room.

"I understand that you can't talk to me about Mr. Kassel," Nate says gently. "But are there any such rules about Alejandro?"

"No. I don't think so."

It's weird really; this guy looks vaguely like Deeks (a very strung out and almost frail version of him), but he couldn't be acting any less like him. Marty Deeks may play the joker, but underneath it all, he's an extremely intelligent and courageous man. This guy – this Jimmy Reese character – is anything but.

"Then talk to me about him. Tell me about Alejandro."

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the first time you met him."

Deeks looks up at him with confusion, almost as if to say he can't really remember the first time. "I…I can't…but…but you know…my head…if I could just get…if you could get me something…I think I could remember then."

"Okay, then let's try this; whatever comes up, just tell me about it."

"And then you'll get me something?"

"Help me, and I'll see if I can help you."

Deeks scratches his arm again, then mumbles, "He brought me back."

"Brought you back?"

"To me. He brought me back to me. To Jimmy."

* * *

_He's naked and bleeding, and just so fucking sick and tired of being __hurt. Their game has changed now – but only by degrees. It's still pretty much the same as it's always been – a brutal combination of pain and drugs and mental abuse._

_Every day starts the same for him. He wakes up after maybe an hour or two of sleep, and the very first question he gets asked is, "Who are you?"_

_For the longest time, he's answered the question with two words. His name. Marty Deeks. And then much to their annoyance, he usually follows it up with a lame joke – maybe a knock-knock one if he really wants to irritate them._

_That response is always rewarded with a beating. After that, either Kassel or Alejandro comes in to try to forcefully insist that he's mistaken about his identity. He's not Marty Deeks at all, they say. He's someone else._

_Jimmy Reese._

_These__ conversations – and the intermingled beatings – typically go on for hours._

_The sessions always end the same__ way every time. After hours of pain and agony, finally, mercifully, a needle is stuck into him, and he can feel the oblivion of heroin as it flows through him. What had started out as hatred of this chemical peace has become an almost obscene kind of desire._

_Addiction. _

_Once upon a time, he'd even cared, wondered how he'd survive the hell of addiction, wondered how he'd find a way to come out on the other side of it._

_He no longer cares. He's stopped believing that there is another side. He's stopped hoping that he'll be rescued or saved – he knows he's too far gone for that to matter anyway. Now, he just wants peace. _

_And calm. And quiet. And forgiveness._

_And so every day, he endures the abuse and the stories and the pain because at the end of that rocky useless path is the quiet of the needle. _

_And so far, the needle hasn't taken away who he is._

_Still Marty Deeks. _

_All of that changes one morning three months after the day Kensi had been murdered. That's how he measures the passage of time now. It serves two purposes – to help ensure that he never forgets her, and to remind himself of the guilt that he should always feel for letting her die. He owes her that, he figures._

_That morning, three months after her death from a heroin overdose__, the idiot thug known as Alejandro comes up with a brilliant idea – probably the only one of those that he's ever had in his entire life._

_Instead of a brutal beating, he kneels down next to Deeks, and says, "You want to feel better, don't you, Jimmy?" Behind him, in the doorway, Deeks sees Kassel watching, a small knowing smile spread across his thin cruel lips. "Don't you?" Alejandro repeats, his face just inches away from his._

_And God, doesn't he. Because it's not actually morning now, it's afternoon, and he's been without a hit for almost twenty-four hours. Everything hurts, everything itches and burns and feels like it's on fire. His body feels slick and cold and awful._

"_Yes," he gasps, hating himself for the weakness he hears in his voice. He wonders what Kensi would think of him, wonders what the expression on her face would be. Disgust. Yeah, that for sure._

"_Deeks," the blonde cop tells him. And then he steels himself, ready for the hit that always seems to come whenever he insists that he's still Deeks._

_Oddly, it doesn't come._

"_I can help you," Alejandro tells him. _

"_Yeah, I know you can," Deeks laughs bitterly. "So come on now, let's get on with the beating, okay?"_

"_No beating today, Jimmy. You only gotta do one thing for me, and I'll give you what you want." He holds up the box with the syringe in it. To Deeks' horror, he feels his heart quicken in anticipation. "Promise," Alejandro adds with a smirk._

"_What I gotta do__?" Deeks asks tiredly. "Because if it's anything kinky, I don't swing that way, man. Sorry."_

_Alejandro chuckles. "Nah, nothing like that, Jimmy. All you gotta do is say your name for me. That's it."_

"_Marty. Marty Deeks." He braces again. And once again, the hit doesn't come._

"_Okay, Marty Deeks, when you're ready to call yourself Jimmy Reese, you let me know, and I'll give you what you need."_

_And then he gets up and leaves._

_Two days pass, and Deeks is coming completely apart at the fucking seems. He should be hungry and thirsty and sleepy, but he feels nothing except the horrible muscle cramps, and the gnawing pain in his gut. The nausea comes and goes, and he's thrown up every little bit of grime and acid in his stomach._

_Still, he holds out._

_Still, he stays Marty Deeks._

_When he gets weak, he thinks about her. Thinks about how much he misses her and how much he owes her. It's a debt he can never repay, and never forget. _

_That buys him another hour or two each time. _

_But by day four, it's all over for him. By__ day four, he's broken and he hates himself for it. By day four, he's utterly and hopelessly lost._

"_Tell me your name?" Alejandro asks._

"_Deeks," he mumbles. _

_Somehow, Alejandro knows that Deeks is just fronting now. "Tell me your name," he says again, his voice ridiculously soft. It's amazing that this terrible thug has the ability to pretend to be kind and gentle._

"_Jimmy," Deeks whispers, his voice a pathetic whimper. He's shaking so hard now that he wonders if he's having a seizure. Tears streak down his face._

"_Your full name."_

"_Jimmy Reese."_

"_Good boy." And then he feels the prick of the needle._

_As the chemical poison rushes through him, h__e apologizes to his partner. He begs her for her forgiveness even though he knows he doesn't deserve it._

_She never replies. He never expected her to._

_By the fifth time he plays this game with Alejandro, he's stopped apologizing to her. Not because he's stopped being sorry for his weakness, but rather because by then, he's somewhat forgotten who she is._

_The fifth time is the last time he has to play that particular game with Alejandro. After that, he really believes that he is Jimmy Reese._

_After that, he believes that Marty Deeks and Kensi Blye are just names. Names that mean nothing to him, and never have._

_At least, that's what he tells himself. That's what he makes himself believe. Any time he falters, anytime he wonders aloud who Deeks is, he's reminded forcefully. Apparently, now that he's broken, Kassel and Alejandro don't mind returning to the physical abuse to make their point._

_The one night he relapses and screams out that his name is Marty Deeks, the one night he calls out for her, they break every finger on his right hand._

_He never relapses again. From there, everything seems to get better. _

_The pain stops. The guilty feelings stop. The memories stop._

_He is Jimmy Reese._

* * *

Nate listens to the story, his face passive, and his expression unreadable. After it's over, he asks, "Did they ever tell you why you believed you were Deeks?"

"I was doing a job for Mr. Kassel. Getting in with the cops. I just lost my way," he says the words in such a monotone that it's clear that this, too, has been beaten into him. It's enough to make Nate want to scream in frustration.

Instead, he simply quietly agrees, "Yes, you did."

He stands up to leave.

"You gonna get me stuff now?" Deeks asks.

"I'm going to get you something to help," Nate confirms. He takes a step towards the door.

"Wait. You said we knew each other. How?"

"You were a member of my team," Nate tells him. "First time we met was the night you signed up."

* * *

"_You really think he'll show up__ tonight?" Nate asks, his words interrupted by a yawn. It's late at night, and he's tired, but his curiosity is making him stick around to see if Hetty is right about this LAPD Detective she's got her eyes on._

"_I do," she says, as she offers him a cup of tea._

_He__ takes it from her and sips it, his keen mind whirling. He could have left hours earlier, with the rest of the team, but just as he'd been about to pack everything up and head home, Hetty had handed him a personnel file._

"_We'll be having a new operative join the team," she'd said._

"_Dom's…replacement?"_

"_There is no replacement for Dom," she'd replied simply. "And he's not a temporary agent. In fact, he's not an agent at all."_

_Nate had opened up the file. "Deeks? The cop?"_

"_We could use a liaison," she'd told him._

"_Really? Because we…really haven't needed one before."_

"_Times and needs change, Mr. Getz."_

"_Ah," he'd said __simply as he looked down at the personal file of one Martin Andrew Deeks born in January of 1977._

"_Ah?" __she'd prompted, a small smile on her lips._

"_You're recruiting again, Hetty," he'd told her._

"_I'm not sure I know what you mean," she'd replied, trying to play innocent, and failing badly. He's always been good at being able to read her (he suspects, though, that he reads as much as she wants him to). _

"_Of course not," he'd said agreeably. "Are you sure about this?"_

"_I wouldn't be bringing him in if I wasn't."_

"_Are you sure he'll agree to join the team? From what I heard, he didn't exactly hit it off with the others. Especially Kensi."_

"_True, Mr. Deeks and Ms. Blye certainly had a reaction to each other didn't they?" She'd smiled slightly and then continued with, "But yes, I'm sure. And I'm pretty sure he'll be dropping by tonight to confirm that."_

"_Is there any point in me asking what you're up to?" Nate had queried._

"_None at all," she'd told him with chuckle._

_Now, two hours later, he's wondering if she'd been wrong. But just as he's about to grab his bag and call it a night, he hears footsteps from down the hallway, coming towards the bullpen. He sees Deeks step into the light, his hair slightly wet from an evening surf._

"_Mr. Deeks,__" he hears Hetty say as she appears out of nowhere. "You found us. Excellent. May I presume then that my directions were adequate?"_

"_Pretty simple," Deeks says warily. He steps towards them, a packet of papers in his hand. "You forgot to mention the bum peeing on the wall outside."_

"_I assume you waited until he was done to come in?" she asks._

"_Of course."_

_Nate takes that moment to step forward, hand out. "Uh, Nate Getz. I'm the Operational Psychologist around here."_

"_You guys have your own shrink?" Then, before allowing Nate to reply, he laughs, "Actually, that doesn't surprise me at all. I'm guessing Kensi needs a lot of time on the couch, right?"_

"_Uh…"_

"_Never mind. Marty Deeks." He takes Nate's hand, and gives it a good firm shake. Then, to Hetty, "So, what's the plan? I come when you need someone to help you on LAPD cases from time to time?"_

"_Actually, I was thinking you'd work with us on a more day-to-day basis," she tells him. "I've already cleared it with your boss."_

"_Oh."_

"_You'd still, of course, work your own open cases, and if any of them get to the actionable stage, they would take priority," she assures him._

_He nods, seeming relieved. "Okay. And the others…they're good with this?"_

_She shrugs. "Doesn't matter if they are."_

_Deeks plows right past that. "Because, I kind of got the impression that there was no love shared between any of us. Especially me and Kensi."_

"_You and Ms. Blye may have gotten off on the wrong foot," Hetty confirms, smiling as Deeks unknowingly echoes Nate's previous words._

"_Wrong foot? Really? Because that's an…epic understatement."_

"_First meetings are often difficult, but I have no doubt that you two will do wonderfully as partners."_

"_Partners?" Nate interjects._

"_With Mr. Vaile still missing, Ms. Blye needs a partner," Hetty tells them both. "I think you two will make a fantastic team in no time."_

"_Is she on something?" Deeks asks Nate._

"_No," Nate chuckles. "And if I were you, I'd pretty assume she's right about this. She almost always is."_

"_Yeah," Deeks says, his doubt clear. He holds out the papers. "Here. Signed." _

"_You didn't need to bring these back to me tonight," she tells him. "I told you that you could think about it overnight."_

"_Uh huh. You clearly knew I would be bringing it by tonight, though, right? That's why you were waiting here for me?" She simply smiles in response. To Nate, he says, "She's a bit creepy."_

"_Yeah."_

"_Yeah," Deeks echoes. "Good night, Hetty. Nate."_

"_Nine-thirty, Mr. Deeks."_

"_I'll be here," he sighs, then turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness, and most likely vanishing out into the air of the warm Spring night._

"_You sure about this?" Nate asks._

"_As sure as I was when I told Agent Macy to actively recruit Ms. Blye."_

"_That sure?"_

"_That sure," she confirms._

* * *

Deeks looks up at him for a moment, eyes wide.

"Do you remember that?" Nate asks gently.

"I…I…no…no." Then he shakes his head, again reacting as though he's been struck by something hard. "No. I don't."

"Nate reaches out and touches his arm. "I'm going to go and get you some help now. Just relax, okay? I'll be back shortly."

Deeks responds by simply dropping his head back into his arms. It's almost amazing to think that just a few hours ago, he'd been strong enough to almost kill Kensi in her apartment. Now, he's just a pathetic shell of a man.

* * *

Nate exits the room and walks down the hallway, back to where the rest of the team is waiting, their anxiety clear. Kensi sees him, and practically charges him.

"Well?" she demands.

"Well, there's some good news and bad news."

"Start with the bad news," Callen says.

"His heroin addiction is severe. Breaking him of it is going to be extremely hard. We'll need to bring in some help in order to keep safe as we bring him down."

"That's the bad news?"

"I wasn't done," he says gently. "He honestly believes that he's Jimmy Reese. He thinks Deeks is someone that he pretended to be so that he could be a cop on the inside for Kassel."

"Complicated bit of turnaround," Sam notes.

"Very, and that's actually where the good news comes in. The story they created for him was badly constructed – it falls apart almost immediately with any degree of introspection. The brainwashing itself was all done by force. That's not really the best way to do it. Typically, the most effective way to brainwash someone is by using their beliefs and desires to manipulate them."

"Like cults do." Callen notes.

"Exactly. Members of cults are already somewhat bought in to what's happening, and are therefore more likely to ignore the warning bells in their head. They're more willing to turn their back on their pasts anyway. For Deeks, that wasn't the case at all. They essentially forced him to forget who he was using using drugs and torture. He probably hasn't had a clear thought in months. Chances are that under the drugs, Marty Deeks is still very much there."

"So we just need to get him clean, and he'll be all right?" Kensi asks, hope glistening in her eyes.

"It won't be that easy," Hetty says with a shake of her head.

"She's right. Deeks may be there underneath, but they've built Jimmy over the top of him using drugs and torture. We can remove the drugs, but we can't take away the torture and the fear that they used to break him down. Every time he tries to remember who Deeks is, he thinks he's about to be hurt. I hate to use this comparison, but he's a bit like an abused dog right now – the name Deeks causes him to flinch away like he's about to be hit."

Kensi turns away for a moment, not wanting the others to see the tears forming in her eyes. She's not naïve; she's always known that they'd have done horrible things to Deeks (she'd even told Dr. Crosby as much), and yet hearing her worst nightmares confirmed is almost too much for her.

"Kensi?" Sam asks.

"I'm fine," she replies, putting up a hand. It's one thing to have a minor breakdown on the beach (or in her shower) where she's alone, but she won't do it here. Not in front of her friends. They need and expect more from her, and she's not about to let anyone else down. She wipes the moisture away, and then turns back. When she speaks again, her tone is hard. "Go on, Nate."

"It all comes down to his psyche. It's completely confused and traumatized at this point. In order to bring Deeks out, we'll need to not only convince him that Deeks is real, but convince him that he's safe and won't be hurt for believing that."

"How do we that?" Callen asks.

"Step one is getting him clean," Nate tells them. "That's ground zero. Nothing else is possible until he's able to think at least somewhat clearly. He has to be able to understand everything from a logical point of view for this to work."

"You have someone you can bring in?" Hetty asks.

"I do. I have friend who has dealt with a lot of Prince Charming detox cases that have been coming through. She's a specialist at the new kind of rapid detox that's being used by many of the Hollywood elite. It's expensive, though."

"Money is no object," Hetty says immediately.

"Understood," Nate replies.

"Wait, rapid detox?" Kensi asks. "Sounds too good to be true."

"It can be," Nate agrees. "In the best case scenario, the patient is put under anesthesia, and then his system is cleared out of the opiates in it using prescription meds – primarily one called Nalexone. The patient doesn't have to feel any of the mental side effects of normal detox."

"And in the worst case scenario?" Sam pushes.

"Sometimes it doesn't work, and sometimes a patient is too weak to be able to handle it. Their minds may not have to suffer through the detox, but their bodies feel every bit of it, and often in a very accelerated way. It can put a tremendous amount of pressure and strain on the patients' already weakened body."

"So it's risky," Callen notes.

"Very. On the other hand, if it works, we can keep him from having to endure any further pain. And then we can move on to trying to deprogram him."

"Detox and deprogram," Kensi repeats bitterly.

Nate reaches out and touches her arm. "I know how it sounds. I'm sorry."

"Seems like we have a decision to make," Sam states. He feels much the same way that Kensi does about the terms being thrown around, but there's time for those feelings later. After Deeks is safe. And clean.

"Rapid or regular detox," Callen clarifies.

Both of the men look at Kensi, and for the first time that either of them can ever remember, she looks absolutely terrified at the idea of having to make the choice.

Thankfully, Hetty saves her from having to. "Mr. Deeks has been through enough pain. Bring your friend over, Mr. Getz. Let's get this started."

"I'll make sure she knows that this location of the Boatshed is confidential."

"Just get her here," Sam tells him.

* * *

The friend of Nate's is a pretty young redhead with a calm bedside manner named Doctor Jane Wilson. She brings a mobile treatment unit, which includes a gurney - complete with restraints – monitoring equipment, and several IV bags.

After a brief series of introductions, and a quick rundown of what the treatment will entail, she enters the Interrogation Room with Nate, and they stay in there for over an hour.

At first, there'd been discussion about moving Deeks to an actual clinic for the treatment, but the memory of Kensi being attacked by Sanchez while she had been in the hospital and in critical condition, is still relatively fresh for everyone.

So they do it here. It's makeshift, and far from optimal, and yet for everyone, this is exactly how they want it to be. Mostly because they can keep an eye on Deeks, and make sure that he doesn't disappear again.

When Nate finally comes out of the room, he's holding a folder in his hand (Dr. Wilson's on-the-go medical assessment of Deeks' condition, and the injuries that she believes that he has sustained). He says simply "It's started."

* * *

The next twenty-four hours are absolute hell for everyone.

Sometimes, rapid heroin detox can occur in as short as four hours, but typically, it takes much longer than that – sometimes up to forty-eight hours.

Sam and Callen are tired – having managed no more than a few hours of sleep, and Eric, who is checking in from Ops every fifteen minutes or so, is clearly on edge, but it's Kensi who is a complete nervous wreck, utterly unable to put up her typical calm wall of cool steel. Right now, she's hyped up on caffeine, having consumed at least three pots of coffee, and maybe a Red Bull or two.

She's anxious, pacing the front room. Every time someone suggests that maybe she should sit down, she snaps back a quick, "No, thank you." The only time she softens is when the Vet calls her to update her as to Monty's condition. The news there is good; he came out of surgery just fine, and will recover completely.

After she hangs up, though, she returns to pacing.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged tiger about to explode.

It's finally simple sheer exhaustion that makes her sit down to take a breath. Too tired to get back up, but feeling as though she has no right to try to sleep while he's going through what he is, she instead busies herself with reading the diagnostic file that Dr. Wilson had compiled.

It's comprehensive, and horrifying – a list of injuries, scars and probably drugs. They don't tell the complete story of what was done to Deeks, but they create a pretty nasty visual for sure.

As she looks at the hand-written words on the page – horrific words that seem to describe repeated brutal beatings involving belts and whips and other sharp objects - the energy seems to literally drain from her body. Even as she fights desperately against the sudden onslaught of fatigue, she feels her eyelids sagging, becoming almost unbearably heavy.

And then she dreams.

* * *

_It's the same nightmare that she's had for month. As usual, they're - she and Deeks - back on that damn wall in the warehouse, both of them still chained to__ it. They're both battered, bruised and struggling with figuring out how to survive._

_This one is the worst one yet because this time, when she turns to look at him, he doesn't like he actually had on that day, but rather as he will a few weeks later (at least according to Dr. Wilson's assessment)._

"_Deeks," she whispers._

"_This is your fault," he says, his tone angry and hard. She's never heard this before. Sometimes, she's seen accusation in his eyes – maybe even hate if she projects hard enough – but he's never actually said the words to her._

_Not these ones anyway._

"_You left me to this," he continues. "You let this happen to me."_

"_No…"_

"_Did you even look for me?"_

"_Yes!" _

"_Really? For how long? A couple of days? Maybe a week? How long until you told yourself that I was dead and just let me go. Is that what helped you sleep at night? Is it, Kensi? Be honest for once in your life. Come on."_

"_Deeks…"_

_She almost wants to laugh at the idea of sleep. Doesn't he know that she sees him every single time she closes her eyes? Can't he see how exhausted she is?_

"_That's what I thought. Do you know what I've been through?" he asks._

"_I'm sorry," she finally whispers. "I'm so sorry."_

"_You should be."_

_He doesn't look or sound like himself, but she has no doubt that she's talking to her partner because he's saying everything that she already feels. Everything that she's been telling herself from the moment she woke up in that hospital bed._

_She had let him down, and she had presumed him dead._

_She'd even derived some sort of strange comfort out of that presumption._

_All to come to this._

"_You know I won't stop," he says suddenly._

"_I don't know…won't stop what?"_

_"Trying to kill you."_

_Suddenly, he's no longer chained to the wall. Suddenly, inexplicably, he's standing in front of her, just inches away from her._

"_Deeks," she breathes. _

"_Kassel may have sent Jimmy to kill you, but I'm the one who wanted to do it. I'm the one who offered to do it." He leans in, so close that she can feel the red hot heat of what she can only imagine to be fever rolling off his skin. "I'm the one who wanted to do it. I want to do it now."_

_And then he leans in, places his hands around her throat, and squeezes._

_She gasps out his name._

"_Marty…"_

* * *

She comes awake with a violent start, nearly falling off the couch, his name bursting forth from her lips. She can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and for a moment, she absolutely can't breathe. For a moment, all she can do is violently gasp for air. In the back of her mind, she once again hears the shrill warning of an oncoming panic attack.

"Kensi," Sam says, running to her side. He places a hand on her back. "Breathe, breathe, girl. Come on. It was just a nightmare. Come on, breathe."

She feels his hand moving, rubbing circles into her back. Slowly, her throat begins to open back in, and she feels air rush into her lungs. Her heart continues to pound away, but she can feel control returning to her. The sirens quiet.

"Kensi?" Callen asks from above them. Nate and Hetty are next to him. It's all a little bit embarrassing. She's starting to get really sick and tired of showing weakness in front of her teammates and friends.

"I shouldn't have read this," she says weakly. She holds up Dr. Wilson's assessment of Deeks.

"You're not to blame for what happened to him," Nate says, as if reading her mind. She smiles wryly in response. "I'm serious, Kensi."

"So am I, Nate."

"Are we missing a conversation here?" Callen asks.

"Not really," Nate chuckles. "She's just insisting on taking on all the blame for what happened to Deeks. I told her not to, she basically said she was going to do it so I might as well just back off and let her. I pretty much sum it up, Kensi?"

"Pretty much," she agrees dryly.

"Ridiculous," Hetty announces. "You protected Mr. Deeks the best you could. He'll be the first one to tell you that once he's able to."

"It's a nice thing to say," Kensi replies carefully.

She's about to say more (something like "but we all know you're wrong) – or maybe one of the guys is about to try to convince her that she's mistaken – but none of them has the chance to. Down the hall, they hear the door to the Interrogation Room open.

A moment later, Dr. Wilson appears, and the looks of hope that had snuck onto their faces (in spite of their fears) slide away when she says sharply, "Nate, I need you. Now."

"Why?" he asks, already in motion.

Her reply sends chills through everyone in the room, "I can't wake him up." And then, without a further word, she turns and practically runs back to the Interrogation Room, her urgency apparent. Nate is right on her heels.

Before they get too far, Kensi reaches out and grabs Nate's arm. "Nate, what does that mean? What's going on?"

He turns to face her, his expression somber and serious, "You remember me telling you about the risks of rapid detox? One of the worst involves the actual drug we use to help the detox along. Sometimes, the Nalexone causes complications. Sometimes…sometimes patients don't wake up."

She falls back then, unable to say anything, shock written across her face. Nate wants to reach out for her, puts his arms around her, and offer her comfort, but for now, at least, there's no time for that. Instead, he turns and follows Dr. Wilson back into the Interrogation Room.

After a moment, Hetty says softly, "Mr. Callen, please turn on the LCD."

For a brief moment, Callen seems surprised. So far, everyone has gone out of their way to not watch what's happening to Deeks. It almost seems wrong to turn the LCD on now. Especially considering what he's going through.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I am."

He leans over and turns the LCD on. It flashes and then shows Nate and Dr. Wilson standing over Deeks. They can't actually see much of the blonde cop, but what they can see shows pale skin - shiny and soaked with sweat.

Off to the side of the gurney are several monitors, showing things like blood pressure and heart rate.

"God," Kensi whispers, a hand covering her mouth.

Callen turns his head and looks at her. Months earlier, he'd wondered if they'd lose her if Deeks had died. Back then, he'd been sure they would. Now, watching her stare at the LCD, seeing the horrified expression she's wearing, he's moved from sure to certain. If they lose Deeks today, they'll lose her as well.

He reaches out, slides his hand into hers, and squeezes.

She doesn't squeeze back. It's almost like she doesn't even recognize that he's standing next to her, trying to offer her whatever comfort and support he can.

Or maybe, he thinks, she just doesn't believe she deserves it. The thought breaks his heart, and yet for Kensi, it feels accurate.

A moment later, he's pulled from his thoughts of her by a loud shrill noise coming over the speakers of the LCD.

The sound of a heart monitor signaling that Deeks has taken a turn for the worse.

**TBC…**


	15. Chapter 15

**Slightly delayed, but here we go. Again, thanks for the kind words. This one a bit different in how the flashbacks go - they're not exactly based on what's happening in the present so much as the evolution of Kensi and Deeks. Since this story kind of broke off after OVERWATCH, that's what we go up to. One note - the DISORDER flash kind of ties in with another piece I wrote called SLEEP. Enjoy.**

* * *

The world passes by in front of her eyes in a blur of nearly psychedelic motion and color. She can see images ghosting by on the LCD, and she can hear voices drifting out of the speakers, but if someone were to ask her to explain what's occurring within the Interrogation Room at this exact moment in time, she'd be at a complete loss.

To be honest, she's at a complete loss for just about everything right now. Her heart is slamming violently against her ribcage, and her head is pounding with the maddening and nearly psychotic intensity of a fourth grader getting to play with a steel drum set for the first time.

"Kensi," she hears Callen say, but even her own name means nothing to her. She feels his hand in hers – his palm dry and cool. He squeezes again, still desperately trying to get a reply of some kind from her.

Her only response is to whisper her partner's name. "Deeks." Her voice is low, almost inaudible, but everyone in the room hears exactly what she says.

She continues staring directly at the LCD, her eyes opening and closing almost lazily, like she's half-asleep. Absently, she sees Nate and Dr. Wilson flying across the screen, rushing to treat Deeks, working desperately to save his life. She hears them calling out a myriad of medical terms, giving each other instructions (mostly, it's Wilson telling Nate what to do), but the words might as well be in another language. To her ears, they're absolute gibberish.

Violent colors swirl in front of her suddenly extremely dark and wide eyes. The part of her mind that's still working at least somewhat right is beginning to wonder if she's about to finally succumb to the panic attack that's been nipping at the edges of her consciousness for the last twenty-four hours.

It's a horrific thought, and if her mind could wrap itself around the situation at hand, she'd be disgusted with her weakness. Right now, though, she's about as far removed her own mind and sense of self as is humanly possible.

She feels Callen press his fingers between hers, forcing her to hold his hand back. He squeezes again (this time with much more force and urgency), and she has no doubt that she's scaring the hell out of him right about now. She wishes that she could apologize to him for worrying him needlessly, and she wants to remind him that his attention should be on her partner and not herself.

She's unable to say any of this, however. Instead, the words stay locked within her. Sealed behind the sudden intense fear that is gripping her heart with the intensity of a frantic lover's embrace. Ironic, really.

She hears her name again. This time, Sam is the one calling out for her.

And then the colors increase.

* * *

_The day is done, and the battle won, but no one is sending up __any victorious celebratory flares. This case – this horrific human trafficking monstrosity – well it has taken quite a toll. All that's left to do now is pick up the pieces of it all._

_One of those pieces is definitely Detective Marty Deeks.__ Just a day earlier, he'd been pretty much out of sight, out of mind for the OSP team. Now he's back and once again – for better or for worse - one of theirs._

_Kensi watches him across the parking lot. He's standing under a row of massive trees, pacing back and forth as he waits for them to finish up with the now disgraced Detective Frank Scarli._

"_Go on," Sam says to her._

_She looks over at him, a bit surprised. "What?"_

"_Go talk to him."_

_She turns her head and glances over at Deeks again. He's anxious and agitated, flexing his sore hands repeatedly. He looks like he might even be talking to himself, maybe trying to calm himself down. "What am I…"_

"_Offer him a ride home. He looks like he could use a good nights' sleep," Callen suggests as he tightens the cuffs on Scarli. "If he wants to talk, there you are."_

"_Right," she nods, but she's no more certain than she was two minutes ago. She barely knows Marty Deeks – has only worked two other cases with him. The last thing she wants to do is intrude where she's not welcome. They just don't have that kind of comfort level with each other yet._

_It's possible, she thinks to herself as she watches Deeks run his fingers through his shaggy blonde mane, that they never will. _

_Still, she has something of an idea of what he's going through. Dealing with loss and grief, well, unfortunately, she's something of a pro at that. _

_She steps in his direction, but is stopped by the growl of Scarli's voice. "I wouldn't get too close to him, Agent Blye," he tells her. "He destroys everyone that does."_

_Before she can even think of a response, Sam reacts with a kind of cold fury__. He grabs Scarli away from Callen, and then shoves him face-first against the wall. "Shut up," he orders, and Scarli's suddenly smart enough to realize that he's just seconds away from getting his ugly mug punched in._

_Assured that Sam has the situation well in hand__ (and really wanting to get the hell away from Scarli before she finds an excuse to bury her knee into his crotch), Kensi crosses the parking lot quickly. "Deeks," she calls out. _

"_We done here?" he asks, spinning towards her. When he looks up at her, she takes in his swollen and bruised face. His blue eyes are shimmering, and to herself, she wonders if the gleam she sees is from the sun or from unshed tears._

"_Yeah. Want a ride home?" she offers, knowing that if she just out and out tries to talk to him about Traynor and his feelings about everything that's happened over the last few days, he'll blow her off._

_Turns out, he blows her off anyway._

"_Thanks, but I think I'm going to walk it," he says, a slight hard edge to his tone. She's fairly certain that it's unintentional or at the very least, not aimed at her._

"_Are you close by?" she asks gently._

_He shrugs. "Not really, but I need the air."_

"_Okay," she nods, backing off completely. Space is another thing that she understands well. Sometimes entirely too well._

_He turns his back on her (much later, she'll realize that this is one of the very few times in their entire relationship/partnership where he'll do that), and starts out of the parking lot, his gait purposeful and still agitated. Abruptly, though, he stops and turns back. When he does, she sees the smallest of smiles on his lips._

"_What?" she asks, cocking her head to the s__ide._

"_You missed me, didn't you?" he asks._

_She groans, she's vaguely aware that she in spite of herself, she's returning his smile . "See you Monday, Deeks."_

"_See you Monday, Kensi."_

* * *

The strange thing is, just as she somewhat returns to her mind, becoming at least slightly aware of what's occurring around (and to) her, her bizarre condition seems to suddenly get just that much worse.

It's almost like she's been hit by some kind of heat stroke. Her vision is nothing but a bright wall of blinding color – mostly white. She can hear the sound of her own breathing – it's labored and unsteady. She thinks that maybe she's going into some kind of shock. It's an absurd thought really, but then again, so is having a panic attack at the moment when your partner – your best friend, and God probably so much more – is fighting for his life on a gurney.

She hopes he is fighting. Prays to every deity willing to listen that he is.

She feels herself being moved – walked across the floor and then settled back down onto the softness of the couch that she'd previously fallen asleep on. A blanket is pressed tight around her shoulders, but suddenly feeling like she's overheating, she shrugs it off of her. A moment later, as her body breaks out in an icy cold sweat, she finds herself groping for the warmth again.

"Easy," she hears Sam say, and she can just practically physically feel his worry. "Come on, just take a deep breath."

She wants his words to help her, tries to reach for them, and pull them in, but her always-stubborn mind refuses to release the fear that is surging through her veins like venom from a poisonous snake.

Now it's Hetty speaking to her, saying her name over and over. And then she hears the diminutive office manager say, "I need you to listen to me right now. Don't give up on him yet, Ms. Blye. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Kensi tries to nod her understanding, but it feels like she's suddenly completely lost the ability to move any part of her body. The white light in front of her eyes seems to increase in intensity. And then, to her horror, she feels tears spill from them, leaking down her ashy cheeks. Angrily, she tries to will them back.

For the first time in her adult life, her force of will alone isn't enough to stop the dam from beginning to crumbling.

* * *

_He's sitting at his desk, hunched over his__ new NCIS issued super high-tech laptop when she gets into the office. It's quite early, and she'd expected to be the first one in. A glance at her watch shows her that it's just past five in the morning._

"_Deeks?" she says, stepping towards him. She makes sure that he hears her approach before she speaks. In their almost always dangerous and often deadly line of work, sneaking up on someone – even as a joke – is rarely a good idea. _

_Especially if you want to keep yourself in one piece and absent bullet holes._

_He looks up at her, and smiles almost boyishly. Dressed in baggy sweatpants (which are clearly covering up board shorts) and a well-worn slightly sun-bleached Billabong hoodie, he looks so young and fresh-faced (and downright sleepy) at this time of morning. "Hey, Kensi," he replies._

"_Everything okay?" she asks, dropping her bag down onto her desk._

"_Yeah, fine. I'm just trying to figure out all this paperwork." He holds up a file. "So, I printed my after-action report out because that's what Hetty's instructions said to do. Care to explain to me why I'm printing things out in this day and age?"_

_She laughs. "Ah." _

"_You do know that's not an answer, right?" _

"_If Hetty could destroy every computer in this place," Kensi elaborates as she settles herself behind the desk across from his, "She would. Making us print out all of our reports, and then sign them in about twenty completely unnecessary places, that's her revenge on technology. I'm sure of it."_

"_Awesome," he nods. He taps a few more keys on his laptop, saves whatever file he's working on, and then closes it. _

"_So, why are you here so early?" she asks__ as she starts looking around the chaos of her desk, searching for the tape that she typically uses for her hands when she really wants to go at the heavy bag hard. She's quite certain that she'd left it here after a pretty heavy workout a few days earlier. _

_Deeks __shrugs his shoulders in a noncommittal kind of way. "I just…woke up, realized it was too early to hit the waves just yet, and figured I might as well try and get my report done now so I don't have to do it later. Your turn."_

_She seems a bit surprised. "What? Sorry?"_

"_Why are you here at five in the morning, Kensi?" he's smiling slightly, his blue eyes shimmering mischievously in the dim light of the Mission. _

"_Uh…you know."_

_He shakes his head. "No, I don't know. That's why I asked the question."_

_She seems irritated by his response, which makes him wonders how often Sam and Callen let her get away with such lame replies. They both treat her like their little sister, and while sometimes they're more than happy to annoy her, they also clearly protect her. Probably more than is wanted or is necessary._

"_Kensi?" he prompts. Then, before letting her answer, he adds, "I mean, I'd have understood if you knew I was here. I'd want to come see me, too."_

"_Oh, please," she laughs._

_He waves his hand dismissively. "What you must have been thinking last night. You and me taking on the bad guys side by side. You know, I bet you were lying in bed this morning thinking how lucky you are to have me in your life now."_

"_Have you been drinking, Deeks?" she shoots back._

"_So you haven't thought about last night at all?" he asks, tilting his head and giving her that "come on, now" kind of look._

"_What's to think about? We took out the bad guys. We did our job," she tells him, her words crisp. She's trying to make it clear that this is the end of this particular conversation. That's her intent anyway. _

"_Yes, we did," he replies with a grin._

_She sighs, annoyed by the cockiness that seems to be rolling off of him in waves._

_Only a few hours earlier, the two of them __**had**__ been standing side by side, firing their weapons back at a team of paid assassins sent to murder a former Chechnyan Black Widow named Emma Mastin. It'd been their first case as actual partners, and overall, she had to admit; it'd gone well._

_And yet._

_She and Deeks couldn't be more different. Everything she is, he's the reverse of. There's more to it than just being polar opposites, though. There's something about him, something that just crawls under her skin, and annoys the shit out of her. She still bristles when she thinks about him calling him a one-upper. He's wrong, of course. She's not. She's never been that. Never had to be._

_Mostly because she's never really had to worry about anyone being able to keep up with her. Aside from Sam and Callen, no one else can. It's as simple as that._

"_Kensi?" he says with that grin still crossing his lips. That it's clear to both of them that he knows that she'd been thinking about him just irritates her all the more._

"_You're right, Deeks," she nods. "I was thinking about __you this morning."_

"_Oh?" he seems both genuinely curious, and slightly surprised._

"_I was wondering how long it's going to be before I shoot you."_

"_Shoot me. Wow. Ouch. Why would you shoot me?"_

"_Oh, I think you know why." And now she's the one smiling, only this grin, it's vaguely predatory, and it kind of scares him. And kind of turns him on._

"_Yeah. Okay. So, uh, how'd your thing with your friend go last night?" Deeks asks, changing the subject away from his rather disturbing dual feelings. _

_Her mood alters again. The humor drops away, and it's almost like he can see the dark cloud float over her head. "I should have known better," she replies simply, crisply. "This life doesn't allow for old friendships. Or even real ones."_

"_So you're not real friends with Sam or Callen?"_

"_That's different."_

"_Different because they might know you better than any of those old friends that you haven't seen in years?"_

"_Just…different," she says, and he can tell that she doesn't want to be having this conversation. In fact, she looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here. _

"_So, what about us?" he asks. "Are you saying we'll never be real friends?" He's trying to charm her with the whole boyish grin._

"_I don't really like you," she tells him, but she's smiling slightly, defusing her words, and taking all of the bite out of them._

"_Oh, you will," he assures her. "One day, you'll wake up, and realize that you adore me, and can't imagine your life without me."_

_She snorts._

"_Anyway," he says, changing tracks. "You never answered the question. Why are you here so early?"_

"_I like to work out before anyone gets here," she replies, finally locating the tape. She shows it to him as if to prove her point._

"_Why?"_

_She considers her answer for a moment, and then decides to tell him the truth. __"Because sometimes I want to hit the bag without anyone asking me if something is wrong because I'm hitting it too hard."_

"_God forbid people be concerned."_

"_Deeks," she warns._

_He holds up his hands. "I was just heading out anyway."_

"_Good." She stands up and tape in hand, heads towards the gym. Over her shoulder, she calls out, "Don't wipe-out, Deeks."_

"_Don't break a hand, Kensi."_

_She rolls her eyes and keeps walking, fully aware that behind her, he's wearing that damnable smirk. _

_She has a feeling that she's going to be seeing that smirk when she hits the bag in a few minutes. Actually, she thinks, that's not a bad idea._

_Not a bad idea at all._

* * *

The tears only last a few seconds before the remaining strength in her just seems to leak out of her. She suddenly slumps backwards against the couch, completely unaware of the terrified expressions that her friends are wearing.

Distantly, she thinks that she hears the sound of a door open, and then the click of shoes along the wooden floor of the Boatshed. They're coming closer, she realizes with a strange jolt of fear. Her body stiffens, her spine straightening. She can't really see what's happening around her, but she's ready to fight if she needs to be. It's an absolutely bizarre visual, but she's utterly unaware of it.

She feels Callen's hand tighten around hers. She thinks she hears him say her name again, his voice very soft and worried now.

"Okay, so – whoa, what's going on here?" she hears Nate ask. At least that's what her mind finally – and with significant effort – translates his words as.

"She started doing this," Callen replies. "Right when the monitors went crazy."

"Dammit. All right, let me in here," Nate offers. She hears the sound of his knobby knees hitting the ground in front of her. A moment later, Callen's hand is gone, and then there's a much longer hand in each of hers. "Kensi," he calls out.

He repeats her name, but try as she might, she can't force her voice to work. Even trying (and failing) to do so simply serves to send another shockwave of panic rushing through her. She feels a hand touch her face gently, and then, with no warning whatsoever, she feels a slap against her cheek. It's not especially painful, but it's sharp and unexpected enough to serve its' purpose brilliantly (strangely, pain has always served as a focuser for Kensi); the white screen in front of her eyes cedes back, and suddenly, she sees the Boatshed around her.

"Nate?" she stammers, her voice throaty and choked. She looks up, and into his worried eyes. She looks down and sees his long fingers tangled with hers.

"I'm here, Kensi. We all are. Callen, get her some water, please," He moves one of his hands down to her wrist, checking her pulse as he does so. It's not lost on anyone in the room that he'd done this exact thing with Deeks many hours earlier, when he'd first been brought in to check on their newly recovered LAPD liaison officer. Almost conversationally, and knowing exactly what answer he's likely to get from her, he asks, "Are you all right?"

Coming quickly to her senses, she pushes his hand off of hers. "Fine. Deeks?" she demands, eyes wide and fearful. A voice in the back of her head tries to tell her to calm down, tries to remind her that she's acting in a way that is utterly unlike her. The voice is right, of course, but right now, she ignores it completely.

Right now, she's just so tired and ready to finally break. She hates that this is the truth of the matter (it's not her, she never breaks) but after everything that's happened, well it pretty much is what it is.

But before that break happens, before she becomes incapable of remaining strong and dignified, before the dam that has been holding her together for the last six months crumbles and she inevitably loses the faith and respect of all her teammates (and friends), she just has to know if he's dead or alive.

"We stabilized him," Nate tells her, grabbing her wrist again. This time, she doesn't protest as he times her pulse out, frowning as he does so. Callen appears from behind him with the water. He presses the paper cup into Kensi's shaking and sweaty palms.

"Drink," Callen orders.

She ignores him (and the water) completely, her attention still on Nate. "Stabilized?" she repeats, clearly confused.

Nate glances up at Wilson, who has suddenly appeared in the room. He nods to her, urging her to explain. She steps forward, and addresses the team.

"Your boy almost gave up there for a few minutes, but Nate and I, we pulled him back from the edge. That's the good news," Wilson says, a slight British lilt to her voice that none of the team had previously noticed.

"The good news?" Callen echoes. "What's the bad news?" As he speaks, he motions towards the water cup again. Reluctantly, Kensi takes a sip, and then feeling the cool liquid on her dry throat, another and then another.

"He's not out of the woods yet. His system was nearly flooded with heroin. They've had him arm popping what we typically see guys who have had a habit for years doing. Getting all of it out of him is extremely hard on his entire system. We're having to go very slowly to keep from shocking his heart."

"Is that what just happened?" Sam queries, frowning slightly. He turns his head and looks up at the LCD. Deeks' pale face is just barely visible behind all of the medical equipment that is currently crowding the Interrogation Room.

She nods slowly, solemnly. "More or less. He seemed to be progressing at a rapid rate, and I think we got perhaps a bit too aggressive with our treatment. We won't make that mistake again, I assure you."

"So what's the next step?" Hetty presses, her eyes following Sam's. She'll never get used to seeing her people like this. She never wants to, either.

"We need to move him," Wilson replies bluntly.

"What?" Kensi demands, suddenly snapping back into the conversation.

"Kensi," Nate starts softly. "Deeks' condition right now is very tenuous. We were able to pull him back this time, but if it happens again – maybe while one of us is sleeping or out of the room for whatever reason…well, in our…in my opinion, I just think it'd be better for him to be around more medical professionals."

"So bring them here," she shoots back. She looks at the others, expecting for them to echo her words and back her up. Callen and Sam look like they want to – Hetty, too – but none of them say anything. "Guys, come on…"

"Kensi," Sam tells her. "We have to protect this place. We can't bring in too many other people. We risk compromising the Boatshed if we do."

"Sam, it's Deeks," she pleads, eyes wide with surprise and anger. "He's one of ours. He's my partner. Please…"

"He knows, Kens," Callen assures her. "We all do." He turns back to Nate. "You guys have a place in mind?"

"Her clinic. It's small and contained. We can have Detective Bernhart's guys guarding it. If we're lucky, Deeks will only need to be there a couple days, and then we can move him to a regular NCIS safe house for the rest of the process."

Callen looks at Sam, then at Kensi, and finally at Hetty. After a moment, realizing that it's his call, he says simply, "Do it."

"Callen," Kensi protests immediately, and there's a kind of frantic wildness in her eyes. The kind that tells her everyone just how close she is to cracking. "We're giving Kassel an opening to find Deeks. We can't –"

"No one is going to find Deeks," Sam growls. "And even if they do, they're not getting past us. I promise you that." He reaches out and puts a hand on both of her shoulders. Then he repeats his words. "I promise."

She shakes her head, still not quite able to wrap her mind around the idea of moving Deeks from a place that she considers completely safe to one that she can't control. It's a bad idea. It's a terrible idea.

No one is listening to her. She feels the blood began to surge through her veins again. Her heart begins to hammer against her ribcage anew.

"How are we going to get him to the clinic?" Callen asks Nate. She almost completely zones out before she hears the response (which involves something about ambulances and decoy cars), her eyes locked on the LCD in front of her.

This time, she sees exactly what's on the screen.

Deeks. Lying in a bed, just barely moving, slightly twitching.

But dear God, still alive.

She tries like hell to hold onto that.

* * *

_After the day they've had, she doesn't have the heart to crack on him about running the timer __out the shower four times in a row. On the other hand, if he doesn't stop complaining about how he's got dirt and sand and other desert grime in places that he doesn't even want to begin to name (and she doesn't want him to, either, thank you very much) she's going to kill him._

"_Deeks," she calls out__ as she enters the steam filled shower room._

"_Should you be in here__?" he calls out over the roar of the cascading water. He peeks around the curtain, his soaking wet hair dripping down onto the tiles. "I mean we are in the men's shower room."_

"_It's a co-ed shower room," she reminds him. And it's true. The Mission is small, and hardly has adequate space for a full shower room much less segregated ones. Instead, they rely on a rather archaic warning system involving signs._

"_Well I clearly put the in-use by man sign on the door."_

"_Uh huh. You have nothing I haven't seen before."_

_He opens his mouth to reply, but then stops and settles for simply smirking. _

"_We're wanted up in Ops," she tells him, unwilling to play his game._

"_Give me a few more minutes to clean up and I'll be up."_

"_You've already had almost an hour," she reminds him, no longer able to stay away from at least a light jab. She's been so good…_

"_Hey, I'm not like you, Princess. I can't spit on my hand, rub it over me, and declare myself clean." _

"_That's disgusting, Deeks." She looks vaguely offended._

"_I'm sorry," he says, and for a moment, she almost believes it, but he's not quite able to keep the corner of his mouth from lifting up._

"_You're an ass." She turns and starts to walk away._

"_Kensi, come on, wait," he calls out._

_She turns back. "Why?"_

"_Because I saved your life today," he tells her. "Least you could do is walk upstairs with me."_

_She sighs. "Fine. I'll be waiting outside for you." She starts to move again, but then stops. "I had it under control," she says softly. Then, before he can answer, she turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her._

_It's about five minutes later when he joins her, back in the white shirt and jeans that he'd been in before they had headed out to the desert to save the kidnapped Marines. His hair is damp, and there are still droplets of water streaking across his tanned skin. He smiles easily at her as he comes out._

"_You waited."_

"_I said I would," she shoots back._

"_Yes, you did. Shall we?"_

_She nods curtly and heads towards the stairs, up towards Ops. He follows close behind her, maybe a step back. Just before they enter the room where the others are gathered, he stops her progress by stepping in front of her._

"_What it is?"_

"_I know that you had it under control. I just gave you an assist."_

_She looks at him for a long moment, and then shakes her head. "Come on, Deeks, you've already made us late."_

"_It's good to be late from time to time," he says. "Good for the soul."_

"_Uh huh. I'm going to let you tell Hetty that."_

"_Tell Hetty what?" Hetty inquires as they enter._

"_Nothing. We were just…you know what? It's not important," Deeks says with a shake of his soggy blonde mane, thereby confirming for everyone that Hetty remains the one person that can shut him up._

_Kensi looks over at Callen and Sam and shares an amused smile with them. Then her eyes flicker over towards Deeks, and she's surprised to see him watching her, almost studying her._

_This time, when she looks away, back over at Sam and Callen, their grin is directed at her. And this time, she doesn't care for their amusement at all._

* * *

She knows that they're talking about her. Well, of course they are. They leave her pretty much alone, still sitting on the couch, her eyes remaining glued on the LCD. She's watching Wilson in the room with Deeks, her practiced hands moving over him gently as she readjusts equipment and sensors.

The others? Well they're outside of the Boatshed. Yeah, talking about her.

It annoys her, and if she could focus, it would actually even piss her off.

Right now, though, there's no room in her mind for anything besides Marty Deeks. Right now, all the energy she has left in her is directed towards willing him to survive this.

To come back to her.

To not leave her like everyone else does.

* * *

_She's __waiting for him by his car, staring up at the sky. The blue of the cloudless afternoon has given way to a black velvet cloak punched full of bright stars. When he comes up and stands beside her, he expects her to look at him, but for a moment, her eyes stay locked on the dark heavens above them._

_Finally, "Nice night," he says._

"_Yeah."_

"_What are you thinking about?"_

"_Alaska."_

"_Really?"_

"_My father took me there when I was thirteen. He wanted me to get a chance to step foot in every single state. Said it was important that I understood the differences between the people who live in Alaska and the ones who live in New York. He said that the differences are what make this country great." She smiles as she says this, lost in a memory far in the past. He's seen this look before, even in the short time that they've been working together. It's part crushing pride, part absolute love and part unbearable sadness._

"_Wise man," Deeks nods. _

"_Yeah, but I was thirteen, and didn't want to spend my vacation where it was cold. I didn't even really want to be there, to be honest. I wanted to be home hanging out with my friends."__ Her look is wistful. _

"_Teenagers are stupid sometimes."_

"_And selfish. But you know what I remember from the trip?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_The sky. I remember looking up and feeling like I could see every star that had ever been created. I felt so small and insignificant." Her eyes drift back upwards._

"_You don't strike me as the kind of woman to care much for feeling like that."_

"_There are times when even I don't mind. I didn't mind then," she replies with a shrug. "It was about being part of something bigger. The grand plan of the universe, you know."_

"_So you believe in grand plans?"_

_She looks at him again, then after a beat, shakes her head. "No, I don't."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because any grand plan that involves my father be taken away from me like he was…when he was…isn't a plan that I want any part of."_

_He has no answer for that so he settles for just staying quiet. For the moment anyway. After about five minutes have passed, and her eyes are still affixed on the stars far above, he asks gently, "Why were you waiting for me?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_You're out here by my car. I assume you wanted to talk to me away from the others?" he presses._

_She looks at him, and frowns, and for a moment, he thinks he can see some kind of bubbling need just beneath her surface. It passes quickly, though, and she shakes her head. "No, I got distracted."_

"_Kensi…"_

"_It's fine, Deeks. We did good work today."_

"_Even if I did piss you off by putting my arm around your waist?"_

_She laughs in response._

"_So you didn't get mad?__ Sorry, angry."_

_She meets his gaze evenly. "No. I'm good. My Sweet."_

"_Sounds better coming from me."_

"_Uh huh."_

_Suddenly, he smiles. "That's what this is about isn't it? You want to know what my type is, don't you?"_

"_You're really full of yourself, you know that?"_

"_You and me, we're always going to be driving each other crazy, aren't we?"_

"_Assuming we last that long."_

"_Oh, Fern, I wouldn't worry. I'm not going anywhere."_

"_That sounds like a threat."_

"_A promise."_

_She looks at him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to read his eyes. His tone is jovial, but his words are serious. And intense. _

_It's too much for her. She reaches out, pats his shoulder and then yawns. "I'm heading home. Catch you in the morning."_

"_Night, Kensi."_

_She meets his eyes, sees that same seriousness there, the same promise as before. After a beat, she simply nods, and then turns and walks away, leaving him with nothing but a sky full of stars to keep him company._

* * *

"So, full disclosure," Callen demands once the foursome of he, Hetty, Sam and Nate are outside the Boatshed. They're confident that Kensi can't hear them even though they're pretty sure she knows that they're talking about her.

That she hasn't stormed outside to demand that they knock it the hell off is enough to tell all of them that this conversation needs to be had.

"This has been a long time coming," Nate says with a sigh. "She's been carrying all of this around with her for the last six months. It's a terrible burden."

"Is she going to be all right?" Sam asks.

Hetty nods quickly and then adds in her no-arguments allowed tone, "Ms. Blye is strong. She might seem otherwise at the moment, and she might seem like she's breaking, but I assure you all, she is far from broken."

"Hetty's right," Nate agrees. "This Deeks situation, it's overwhelming her right now. She's spent the last six months convincing herself that he's dead and dealing with survivor's guilt. Now he's alive and he's hurt and he's been through hell, and her guilt is a whole different kind, Now, she's the partner who got off easy while he got tortured." He holds his hand up to stop Callen and Sam from interrupting. "I know. I'm not saying what she feels is accurate. It's not. But it is what she feels, and that's where we have to start from."

"What about Deeks?" Callen asks. "Is he going to make it through this?"

"I think so, but we won't know until his system is completely flushed. Once it is, Dr. Wilson and I will monitor him for a few days just to make sure there aren't any unusual post-detox reactions."

"And then we start the deprogramming."

"Which will make what he's going through now look like a vacation. Look, breaking someone down to the point where they're willing to give up their entire personality, their memories, and well everything that makes them who they are, it's not easy. Reversing that is even harder. We're going to need Kensi. She's the one person who I believe whole heartedly can get through to Deeks."

"Which means we need her strong for him," Hetty notes. She turns to Sam and Callen. "After we've moved Mr. Deeks to the clinic, one of you will accompany Ms. Blye back to her place to pack a suitcase with enough clothes for a week."

"Her place has been compromised," Sam says, more to himself than the others.

"Exactly. Take her back to my house in the Hollywood Hills. I believe you know where it is, Mr. Callen. She'll resist certainly, and want to be with Mr. Deeks while he's going through the detox, but as long as she's near him, she won't rest."

"And it's absolutely imperative that she have the energy for going rounds with the Jimmy Reese identity that is currently front and center in Deeks. She needs to be able to talk to him and not be so exhausted and worn down that she can't keep herself from collapsing," Nate inserts.

"Or having a panic attack," Callen adds. "What's that all about?"

"Another problem that she's been ignoring. She's not one hundred percent physically healthy but she's close enough to it to be able to returning to the field. Her mental issues, however, aside from the guilt, are completely unresolved. She won't admit it, but she was as much a victim of Kassel as Deeks was. She's refused to deal with even a little bit of it. She's not sleeping or eating."

"So what you're saying is that I'm a complete basket case," she says from behind them. She steps outside, wearing Sam's oversized jacket again. The lines on her face spell out her exhaustion vividly.

"Kensi," Callen starts.

"I'm no one's victim," she starts off with, her eyes locking coldly on Nate's. After a moment (one in which he refuses to look away from her), she continues. "But I am tired. It doesn't matter, though. I need to be here for him. He would be here for me. He wouldn't leave my side. For anything."

"You're no help to him like this, Ms. Blye," Hetty tells her.

"Please, don't make me leave him." she says. "Please."

"I've never seen you cry," Sam notes. "In there, you were crying."

She shakes her head. "No…I…"

"It scared the hell out of me," Sam continues.

"Us," Callen corrects. "You're right; Deeks needs you, but we need you, too."

"And what if he dies while I'm curled up in a bed. What if…"

"Then it's his time," Hetty interrupts. "And you being there will make no difference." Kensi opens her mouth to argue, but Hetty silences her with a hand on her forearm. "You're not a doctor, Ms. Blye, and right now, Mr. Deeks is unaware of who he is much less who you are. Right now, you can't help him, but very shortly, if the universe wills it, you will have your chance to bring him back."

"This is wrong," Kensi replies, feeling the exhaustion as if it were a hundred pound weight on her shoulders. She's just so damned tired.

"Maybe, but it's what we're going to do," Hetty says gently. Then, to the men, "Let's get Mr. Deeks prepared for transport. The sooner this part is over, the sooner we can work on bringing Marty home."

* * *

"_So how did you know?" he asks when they're back by themselves in the solitude of her Cadillac.__ After his failed attempt to do a night out on the town with the guys while still wearing their James Bond tuxedos (thanks to Hetty), Kensi had been kind enough to wait around long enough to give him a ride back to his place._

"_Know what?"_

"_All the pregnancy stuff."_

"_I'm a woman, Deeks, do try to remember that."_

"_I do try," he nods. "But in my defense, MacGyver, you sometimes make it very difficult. I mean I still want you to explain hotwiring an airplane."_

"_Wanted to see if I could," she shrugs._

"_Of course. And pregnancy?"_

"_What are you asking, Deeks?"_

"_Have you ever been?"_

"_Do I have a kid?"_

"_That doesn't answer the question," he tells her. "And you know it."_

"_Crackers and ginger ale, anyone who has ever watched a romantic comedy knows that when women are pregnant, that's what they eat and drink."_

"_So you're movie experienced is what you're telling me?"_

"_Yes. Now drop it."_

_For a moment, it seems like he's going to but then he asks. "Never pregnant, but thought you were at some point?"_

"_Deeks."_

"_Bullseye."_

"_We're not talking about this."_

"_Which pretty much means I'm right."_

"_You always think you're right," she grumbles._

"_So do you," he counters._

"_No, I don't think I'm right, I know I'm right," she replies with a grin. _

"_Maybe, but do you look as good as I do in a suit? You have to admit, I looked smoking hot."_

"_I don't know about smoking hot. Smoking pretty maybe."_

"_Oh, nice. You know what? That was mean. And hurtful."_

"_I'm sorry," she tells him._

"_No, you're not."_

"_No, I'm not."_

"_Fine."_

"_Oh, look who's pouting now."_

"_Yeah, drive, Blye." She just smirks in response, and fires up the ignition of the car. They're halfway to his place before he says lightly, "Ever think about it?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Being a mom, I mean."_

"_Deeks."_

"_I'm not pushing. I'm not asking. I'm just…spitballing here, Kensi. Have you ever thought about it?"_

"_Sure," she replies, clearly guarded as if expecting this to be some attempt to get answers that she's not prepared to provide._

"_You think you'd be good at it?"_

"_Probably not," she admits._

"_Oh."_

"_You? Ever thought about it?"_

"_Being a mom? Nah. Missing the vital equipment, you know."_

"_You're an idiot."_

"_Thank you__. And we're here." He points to his place._

"_You didn't answer the question," she notes._

_He gets out of the car, and then leans back in through the window and says with a smile, "Sometimes, my sweet, it's better to be left wanting." Then he winks, and turns and heads towards his place._

_She watches him go, her mind whirling. His experiences with his father have (and had) clearly been far different than hers with own dad. Terribly different, apparently. And they've left deep scars behind to prove it._

_Scars that she's not sure she has the right to pick at._

_Especially since she's not willing to let him pick at hers._

* * *

It's about an hour later, and she's in Sam's car, resting her head against the door, staring out at the dark Los Angeles streets as they pass through them.

"Kensi?" he asks, frowning slightly. He'd helped Callen and the others get Deeks transported to the tiny clinic in the heart of Torrance. Callen would be staying behind to stand guard – at least until Bernhart arrived. And likely after as well.

Which made Kensi his priority.

"I'm fine, Sam," she says softly.

"You're not," he tells her.

She shakes her head, "I'm not."

"Tell me how I can help."

"Talk me out of ever going on the case in the first place. Make me not be so stubborn and bull-headed that I wouldn't listen when Callen told me I wasn't ready. Make me not make it personal and insist that we stay in."

"Don't do this to yourself," he says.

She looks at him, and he once again sees the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "How can I not?"

"Look, Kensi, missions go bad all the time. It's the nature of our work. I've had it happen and so has G. So has Hetty. Terrible things happen, and you're always lucky to survive with your life. Which you both did."

"Did we? What if we can't get Deeks back? What then? This Jimmy Reese, he's not the one Eric created. He's some screwed up thug that Kassel invented. If we can't –"

"Stop. You can't even allow yourself to believe that possibility for a moment. You have to –"

"Be strong. Got it.

"It's what you do best," he tells her. "It's one of the things I love about you."

"You always know the right words, don't you, Sam?"

"I have to make up for G never knowing them."

"Yeah. You two make good partners."

"So do you and Deeks."

"I miss him," she says, her voice raw with emotion. It's an admission that she'd never believe she'd make to anyone else, not a million years, but her emotional and physical exhaustion is so overwhelming now that it feels like a new crack forms in the wall of her dam with each passing minute.

"I know." He pulls the car up in front of her bungalow and parks it. They both get out of the car. For a moment, standing side-by side on the street, looking up at the bungalow, neither of them moves.

"I'm going to have to give this place up, aren't I?" she asks, knowing the answer.

"Probably. No way of knowing how many people know about you living here."

"I liked it here," she says with a note of sadness.

"I've moved three dozen times since I started with NCIS," he tells her.

"Only my second."

"Your third one will be even better," he assures her.

She looks over at him. "You're a good friend, Sam."

"So are you. And there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

At his words – words that so terribly echo ones that she and Deeks have said to each other (if not exactly, in spirit and action), another crack in her wall explodes, sending emotion spraying forward. Without warning, she leans up and hugs him.

He reacts without surprise, simply pulls her closer and holds her to him.

* * *

_It's two weeks after the case with the bounty hunter is in the books when they first switch weapons for a target practice session__ at the range. To his slight amusement, despite her words, Kensi seems reluctant to hand over her gun._

_Still, because she's too far in now to back out and refuse to trade guns when he's the one offering, she hands over her Sig and takes his Beretta._

_Turns out it hardly matters what gun she's firing; the lady is a crack shot with just about any weapon she touches. And just to show off a little bit, she fires a shot into the groin of the paper target, and then adds a second hole just for effect._

"_You have a really twisted sense of humor," Deeks tells her._

"_I don't know what you're talking about," she says with a smile as she hands him back his gun, and returns her own to the back of her jeans._

"_Uh huh. So, how'd it fire?"_

"_Nice," she nods. "Not much kick."_

"_But you prefer your Sig."_

"_Yes."_

"_Because it's part of you and you count on it to keep you safe."_

"_Are you trying to make a point here, Deeks?"_

"_It's all about trust," he says._

"_I trust you to have my back in a firefight. That's trust."_

"_I trust you not to shoot me in the same firefight."_

"_I wouldn't do that," she says with a shake of her head. "I mean, I won't let anyone else shoot you, but I can't be held responsible for if I happen to…"_

"_Miss your target and hit me?"_

_She shrugs her shoulders. "You just got to trust me, Deeks."_

"_Right. Just the same, I think I'm going to start wearing a Kevlar cup when we go out in the field together. Just in case you happen to miss your shot, and hit my groin instead, you know."_

"_Good idea," she winks. And then, her face growing serious, she adds softly, "Thank you."_

"_For?" he asks, slightly confused._

_Her eyes drift down towards his Beretta, which is now rested in his palm. "All about trust, right?" he says again._

"_Yeah, it is."_

* * *

Kensi's place looks like a pack of thieves have been through it. In the twenty-four hours since the guys had helped her get Deeks out of the bungalow, it's clear that other visitors have been inside of it.

And not the kind of visitors who leave their business cards behind.

Every drawer in the place has been tossed, every cabinet emptied. Some of the damage is senseless, clearly purely rage inspired. Some of it seems more focused, like they were looking for something specific.

It's the note on her refrigerator that gets her and Sam's attention, though. It's written in black ink on a piece of white and gray stationary paper. It says simply, "I will find you both."

And in that moment, the cracks in her dam widen, and everything finally pours out. It's finally all just too much. When her legs collapse out from beneath her, and the world turns upside down, she's aware of almost nothing.

Nothing besides the fact that when she falls, she doesn't hit the ground.

Someone (Sam) catches her.

* * *

"_So, I'm sorry," he says as he sits down next to her__ at the table. They're in a bar with the rest of the team. The others are scattered about, some dancing, some playing pool or darts. Kensi, for her part, is just watching everything._

"_For what?" she asks, turning towards him. She'd been about ready to get up and go searching for a dance partner when Deeks had sat down._

"_This morning at the park."_

"_You mean when you tried to use me to pick up on the –"_

"_Whoa, watch it there, partner."_

"_What?"_

"_You were about to say some not very nice things about other members of your species. Aren't you ladies supposed to always stick together?"_

_She snorts. "You clearly haven't been around a lot of women have you?"_

"_And you clearly don't have a lot of woman friends do you?"_

"_I thought you were trying to apologize, Deeks," she snaps back.__ It's clear to him that his barb cut her a bit deeper than he'd intended it to._

"_You're right, I'm sorry."_

"_Fine. Apology accepted."_

"_Great. Your turn."_

"_For what?"_

"_Apologizing. For the sleeping with your brother bit. Which was…really mean."_

"_And well deserved." And then, with a wrinkle of her nose. "And you have to admit, kind of funny."_

"_Yeah, no. If not for you, I could be spending tonight in the arms of one of those beautiful yoga bunnies instead of out with you guys."_

"_You're the one who asked all of us out."_

"_Doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be –"_

"_Please stop."_

"_Right. Stopping."_

"_So, tell me - and with as few actual details as possible, please - what is Marty Deeks' idea of the perfect date?"_

"_Dinner and dancing and maybe a midnight stroll on the beach."_

"_Classic."_

"_Exactly."_

"_Of course, a girl knows that dinner and dancing and sand between the toes usually means the guy is expecting a nightcap."_

"_And that's a bad thing why?"_

"_Didn't say it was."_

"_You implied it."_

"_You're sensitive, Deeks. I implied nothing."_

"_Liar."_

_She laugh, turning her head as she does so. That's when she notices two beautiful brunettes babes watching their table, talking to each other and giggling like young women are apt to do. "Oh, look, new bunnies for you."_

_He looks over at them. "Pretty," he notes._

"_Go get 'em."_

_He stares at them for a moment, then turns his head back towards her and shakes it. "Nah. Pass."_

"_Really? On interested girls? Are you feeling all right? Do you need some water."_

"_No, and yes, I'm feeling just fine." He stands up. "Care for a pool game, Partner."_

"_You know I'm going to kick your ass, right?"_

"_I wouldn't have expected you to believe anything different, but I think you'll realize, I'm no push over at the eight ball."_

_She grins, stands up, and follows him over to the pool table, across from the one Sam and Callen are playing at._

_The rest of the night seems to flow by in a swirl of alcohol, pool and laughter. It occurs to him (if not her as well) that they're enjoying themselves off the clock and as friends, not just partners._

_He's pretty sure that no yoga bunny in the world could make this night any better._

_Not that he would__ ever tell Kensi that._

* * *

She has no idea what had happened after she'd collapsed at the bungalow. All she knows is that at some point, she'd passed out in Sam's arms and now she's waking up in a super soft bed, covered up by thick blankets that probably cost several thousand dollars each. If not a whole hell of a lot more than that.

"My Dear?" she hears.

Kensi sits up slowly, blinks away the cobwebs, and then turns to see Hetty sitting in a chair across from the bed.

"Your place?" she asks.

"One of them," Hetty confirms.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't know what happened. I guess I just…" she's unable to say the words "passed out". They're too horrifying, too humiliating.

"It doesn't matter," Hetty replies with a kind smile. "All that does is that you're resting now. And you're going to continue to rest until it's time to help Mr. Deeks find his way home."

"He's still okay?"

"He is. And he's in very good hands. My – and might I add, Mr. Hanna's - concern at the immediate moment is you."

"It shouldn't be. I'm sorry I scared him. Where is he?"

"With Mr. Deeks now, helping stand guard. As for not being 'scared' about you, I'm afraid that's where you're mistaken."

"Hetty, I'm fine."

"That word – that lie - it comes too easy to you," Hetty replies, her tone almost sad. "To all of you."

Kensi doesn't argue the point, just shifts in the bed, noticing that she's in the same clothes that she was wearing previously – absent, of course, Sam's oversized leather jacket. She notices, however, that a suitcase of hers is sitting just a few feet away from her, resting on the carpeted floor.

"Did you dream?" Hetty asks her.

"No. No nightmares. Nothing. I just…" Then, with an angry shake of her head, she forces the words out. "I saw the note Kassel left, and like a fresh out of the academy rookie, I panicked and passed out. That's what happened." Suddenly, her eyes widening, she looks up at Hetty. "I'm going to lose my job aren't I?"

"I don't understand the question," Hetty tells her even though they both know that that's unlikely. Hetty _always _understands. It's her gift and her curse.

"The shrink…I told him I had the panic attacks under control. If he finds out what just happened, he'll pull back his recommendation. He'll insist on a reassignment to a non-field office. Hetty, I can't leave here. I can't…"

"You know, Ms. Blye, I am a big proponent of accurate records. I believe that in a perfect world, we should account for the truth of every situation. However, we don't operate in a perfect world, and there are times when well-meaning men who work in offices are ill-prepared to understand the stresses of our work."

"Hetty…"

"I'll make you a deal, Ms. Blye. When this is all over, and Mr. Deeks is back where he belongs, I will ensure that no record of your panic attack exists as long as you promise to talk to someone you trust about all that has happened."

"Someone?"

"Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna, Mr. Deeks if he's able. Myself. All of us are available to you, and none of us will judge you. And if all you want to do is talk over beers, that's fine, too. You just need to allow yourself to begin to heal."

"I need you to know….I need all of you to know that I can do this job."

"Of that, we have no doubt. Our concern is you. You are family to all of us. We take care of our family. Do we have a deal, Ms. Blye?"

Slowly, Kensi nods.

"Good. Then close your eyes, and sleep."

"I…"

"I'll be turning off the lights now." And then, true to her word, the room darkens. Kensi hears a door shut, and knows that she's alone in the room.

The sleep comes soon after. Thankfully, for once, she's too exhausted to dream.

* * *

_The paramedics show up less than ten minutes after the explosion at the stadium. There are LAPD there as well, swarming everywhere, demanding answers that even they seem to know they'll never get._

_Both Kensi and Deeks try to decline any medical attention but Hetty is insistent which makes Callen and Sam downright annoying about making sure that the junior members of their team are at least checked over in a cursory manner._

_Contusions and abrasions are all the damage is. Luckily. Every single one of them knows how very easily it could have been so much worse._

_Kensi and Deeks especially. Neither Sam nor Callen had actually seen the lasers and felt the intensity of death breathing down their necks. Neither of them had been forced to watch as Kensi had played a macabre and deadly game of limbo._

_How low can you go? Ridiculously low apparently._

_It's all terribly absurd, really._

_Deeks watches as the medic squeezes her arms, checking her bones for breaks. He sees her wince when he squeezes her right arm. The medic rolls up her sleeve to reveal a fist sized bruise on her forearm. _

"_Ouch," he says._

"_Yeah, wait until they check your back."_

"_Back is fine," he replies. "I'm part cyborg." Then, with a tired sigh, he corrects himself. "Okay, not really. But all I need is a beer and I'll be good to go."_

"_Oh, God, that sounds wonderful," she mutters. "Maybe even a six pack of them."_

"_But only the top of the line stuff, right?"_

"_Honestly, I don't care. This day has sucked."_

"_Yes, it has. And I'm sorry for that."_

"_Deeks, you saved my life. Shut up."_

_He laughs. Looking up at the medic, who is watching them both with a bemused smile, he simply shrugs. "We done here?"_

"_I'd like to check your back."_

"_No need, my man. It's fine. And she's fine. We're fine."_

"_We're fine," Kensi echoes._

"_All right. But only because you're fine," the medic agrees with a smirk._

_The two partners exchange a look. Neither one of them is fine – either mentally or physically. This has been an extremely trying day, one where they'd both been seconds and inches from death. Neither one of them wants to spend another minute thinking about that. Both of them know that they'll see lasers and explosions in their dreams tonight._

"_Hey," Callen says, coming up from behind them. "Are you two –"_

_At the same time, completely in-sync, they reply, "We're fine."_

_And then they both laugh._

_It's certainly better than crying._

* * *

The next two days fly by for her, mostly because she sleeps through them. Every now and again, she wakes up long enough to use the bathroom. During those brief intervals, Hetty tries to get her to eat a little bit of soup. She typically manages a few bites – just enough to somewhat satisfy the insistent office manager– and then she almost immediately falls back into a dreamless rest.

When she wakes up almost fifty hours after having first been brought to Hetty's house, it's Callen she sees sitting in the chair next to the bed, reading the sports section of the Los Angeles Times.

"You know I always think you look like an old man when you do that," she comments. "All you're missing is the bi-focals low on your nose."

"Good morning to you, too," he says, putting the newspaper down. He folds it up neatly, and sets it at his feet. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well, I guess. You guys shouldn't have let me sleep this long."

"You needed it."

"I suppose. Callen, why are you here?" she asks. "Where's Hetty?"

"In the other room, on the phone with Director Vance. She's updating him. And I'm here because I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"And Deeks? Are you here to –"

"No. He's going to be fine, Kens. He's completely clean. All signs are good."

She exhales breath she didn't even know she was holding. "Thank God."

"Course, he's a bit of a jackass, being this Jimmy Reese guy and all. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll be glad when we have old goofy Marty Deeks back. I think even Sam will be."

"Sam likes Deeks more than he lets on," Kensi tells him with a smile.

"Yeah, he does," Callen agrees. "I think when this is all over, we should make sure the two of them get to bond out in the field more."

"No offense, but when this is all over, I'm not sure I'm letting Deeks out of my sight," she replies, hating her own words, but recognizing them as the truth.

"You're going to have to," Callen tells her as he helps her stand up from the bed. Her legs feel almost boneless, and for a moment, she thinks she's about to fall, but his arm around her waist keeps her up long enough for her to gather her strength enough to support her own weight.

"Why?" she asks, dread filling her tone.

"Because partnerships don't work if you're too afraid of losing each other. Both of you have to trust that you can't not only protect each other, but yourselves. If you can't, then we'll have to maybe shake things up a little."

"I know," she says softly. Then, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Am I still capable of doing this job?"

"Only you can answer that question," he tells her. "But for what it's worth, I have no doubt of it. We just need to get through this."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Nothing in our lives is."

She chuckles. Then, "So what now?" she asks.

"Now, it's time to get back into kickass take no prisoners Kensi mode. Deeks needs her. He needs you."

* * *

_The first thing she's aware of when she comes to is that she's not lying in her own comfortable bed, her warm Winter comforter wrapped around her. Which, of course, makes the second thing she realizes fairly understandable; she's freezing cold. __ A moment later, she becomes aware of a third thing – a far more surprising thing. This one involves her lying in the rather strong arms of…_

"_Deeks," she whispers._

"_Hey, Princess," he says with a sleepy smile. They're lying on her couch, her head against his chest, his arm slung lightly over her. Dimly, she recalls coming back here the previous night, after spending the time with him at the homeless shelter. She has a vague memory of him asking to stay so that he could keep an eye on her after the hit she'd taken to the head from Talbot._

"_You didn't have to stay the whole night," she tells him, sitting up. She almost immediately winces as the pressure from the concussion she'd suffered overwhelms her. She puts a hand to her forehead, gently probing the hideously raised bruise she finds there. It seems to have gotten worse overnight. _

"_Does it hurt?" he asks._

"_No, it feels great," she replies dryly. _

"_You look great, too," he tells her. "Like a boxer who went ten rounds."_

"_And lost," she mutters._

"_Kensi Blye never loses, right?" he quips._

_He gets the response he was looking for, a smirk and a grin from her._

"_Right. So," he asks. "Christmas Eve dinner is ice cream and beer – which we kind of indulged in." He points towards the empty bowls of ice cream on the table in front of them. "What's Christmas morning breakfast?"_

"_Waffles and beer," she says as she pushes herself up. _

"_Ah, beer, of course," he chuckles. He hears the door to the bathroom close. After about five minutes, it opens again, and she returns to him, settling herself on the couch next to him. "Kind of a running theme with you."_

"_Beer is good with everything," she tells him._

"_You do realize that AA meetings are filled with people who believe that, right?"_

_She rolls her eyes. _

_He heads into her kitchen, and starts looking through her refrigerator, searching for the ingredients to make waffles with. "So, was it with Jack?"_

_"Was what with Jack?"_

_"Was he the one you thought you were pregnant with?"_

_"I've never been pregnant."_

_"But you thought were."_

_"It doesn't matter. He's gone, and there's no baby, and I wouldn't have made a good mother anyway. Can we drop it now, please?"_

_"Sure."_

_"Great." Then, frowning slightly. "Deeks, why are you still here? You could have left before I woke up." She's looking at him intensely now, as if trying to read his thoughts._

"_Why would I do that?" he asks. "Why would I just leave?"_

"_I'm still trying to figure out why you needed to stay."_

"_I thought we had this conversation last night," he reminds her._

"_Deeks?" she urges. She's looking directly into his eyes now._

_He looks away for a moment, studies the chaos of her bungalow, and then finally turns back to face her. When he does, his expression is serious and thoughtful. Quietly, he says, "I couldn't lose you. That's it. That's all of it."_

_She almost tells him that she feels the same way – that after everything they've gone through in the last couple weeks, she can't imagine not having him at her back, and her side. _

_God, how they've come a long way._

_She almost tells him these things. After spending a night on his chest, and wrapped in his arms, it wouldn't have been such a strange confession to make._

_She doesn't say these things, though. She simply doesn't know how to._

* * *

The safe house they take Deeks to is actually a little two bedroom house fairly close to Hetty's Hollywood Hills home. It's nestled into a grove of high trees that provide it with security and absolute seclusion. The locks have been updated, and the windows sealed to keep it as safe as possible.

Still, when Kensi arrives with Callen and Hetty, she's not at all surprised to find Matt Bernhart outside, his shoulder holster prominent. He nods at them.

"Everything good, Detective?" Hetty asks.

"Yep. Deeks is inside with Sam and Nate. Being a bit difficult, I might add."

"Well that's a good sign," Kensi quips, though she's honestly not sure that it's a sign of anything. She's gratified, though, when her comment is meant with chuckles from all of the others.

"Stay on guard," Callen tells him. "We know Kassel is looking for him. And Kensi. You see anyone that looks suspicious, you take them down."

"Got it."

Callen nods at him, and then leads the trio into the house. There isn't a lot of furniture inside, but that's somewhat intentional. They don't know who Deeks really is right now, but giving him anything he can use as a weapon? Bad idea.

"Hey, guys," Nate greets.

"How is he?" Hetty asks.

"Confused, scared and angry. Understandable considering. How are you, Kens?"

"Better," she tells him. "So what now?"

"For now, we're just going to talk to him, try to trigger a few memories."

"Is that what Sam's doing?" Callen asks.

"Kind of. I don't think Sam is built for this part. Deeks – Jimmy – is being fairly obstinate. He's called Sam a few choice names. His patience is running thin."

"You think mine is any better?" Kensi asks.

"No, I know it's not. But I also know that you have more of a connection with Deeks than anyone else does. And more memories that mean something to both of you." He says this last bit pointedly. She chooses just as pointedly to ignore him. He continues on, "You need to be with him every moment that he's awake from now on. He needs you to be his constant. Right now, he's afraid because he knows something isn't right. Without the drugs to glue the Jimmy Reese persona together, the gaps and cracks are showing up more and more with every moment. We need him to reach out for you. You need to be there to pull him up."

"You're sure this will work?"

"You're the best weapon we've got, Ms. Blye."

"Right. Okay, explain one thing to me. I can help remind him of my relationship with him, but he hasn't told me a whole hell of a lot about his past. I know his father was kind of a creep -"

"I'm afraid you don't know the half of it, Ms. Blye," Hetty says solemnly.

"I kind of assumed that. But that's my point. Don't we need to remind him of every part of his past? Even the bad stuff?"

"Yes," Nate agrees. "We do. Which is why Hetty and I went to see his mother. She still lives here in town. Apparently Deeks stops in to see her every couple of weeks. She filled us in on quite a bit of what he went through. She refused to come see him, but she did give us this." He holds up a moleskin journal.

"A diary?" Kensi asks.

"More like letters she wrote to him. From the time he was about three until he moved out at sixteen. There's a few in here after that. They're pretty graphic and pretty intense. They also do a pretty good job of walking someone through his childhood."

He holds out the journal to Kensi. She's reluctant to take it, but finally does. She keeps it tightly closed in her hands, suddenly terrified to find out the secrets held tightly within its aged pages. "Okay," she says softly. "Let's do this."

"You're sure your ready?" Callen asks.

She smiles sadly at him. "Was I ready then?"

He's taken aback by her question, but in typical fashion, recovers quickly. "Yes, you were. I was wrong, and you were ready."

She smiles gratefully, and then says, "Then I'm ready now, too."

* * *

_This time, she's the one in the showers. And this time, he's the one __ignoring the sign on the door and coming in. "Kensi?" he calls out, hoping that she's the one currently using the one active stall in the room. If she's not, whoever is in there is going to tear him a new one._

_Chances are, his partner might do that anyway._

"_Deeks?" she says from behind him. He jumps nearly a foot in the air in response, hand over his heart._

"_God," he spits out. "What are you doing sneaking around?"_

"_I wasn't sneaking around," she says with a wry smile. "I was about to get in the shower." She holds up a change of clothes. _

"_You started your water early? When they're on timers? Why?"_

"_I take a five minute shower."_

"_That's…just plain wrong."_

_She simply smiles. To him, though, it looks like an odd sort of grimace. "Why are you looking for me?"_

"_I just…I had a question."_

"_So ask it so I can shower and get upstairs. They're waiting for us."_

"_As usual but…where were you? I mean, back in Venice. You were right behind me when we left the market, and then you just disappeared until after I shot the guy we were chasing."_

"_Looked like you had it well in hand."_

"_Kensi."_

"_I hate when you say my name like that."_

"_Funny because sometimes you say my name like it's a four letter word."_

"_Might as well be," she chuckles.._

"_Uh huh. So?"_

"_I got distracted."_

"_By?"_

"_A car. It kind of…ran into me."_

"_A car ran into you?" he repeats, disbelief in his tone. "Are you kidding me?"_

"_No." She lifts up the hem of her black shirt, exposing brightly bruised skin that is covered in scraped and deep lacerations. "Looks worse than it is."_

"_Right. Of course it does. Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"_

"_Because you're right, I should have been there. I should have had your back."_

"_You kind of had a good reason for not being there. I would have understood. I understand now."_

"_And if he'd shot you?"_

"_Well then I guess I'd be hooking up with a few really pretty angels right about now."_

"_Don't even joke about that," she admonishes, her voice cracking slightly._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_You should be. What you said a few weeks ago, it goes both ways."_

"_A few weeks ago?"_

"_After Talbot."_

"_Oh."_

_It doesn't take him long to realize that she's talking him telling her that he can't lose her. He also knows that this is the closest she's likely to come to exactly saying the words to him. At least for now._

"_Right," she nods sharply, and then turns and heads out of the shower room. _

"_Hey," he calls out. "What about your shower?"_

"_Timer just went off," she calls back. "Now come on, move it."_

_He trots a few steps and catches up with her, then reaches out and grabs her arm to stop her from moving. "Hey, you are okay, right?"_

"_Good enough," she assures him. "Once we're done here, I'm bubble bath and red wine city for the rest of the night."_

"_And you're sure you shouldn't see a doctor?"_

"_Nothing's broken. Just bruised. And I've bruised much worse than this."_

"_That doesn't actually make me feel better," he admits._

"_I know," she says. "Now you think we can walk into that room and pretend like we're not the two members of this team who k__eep getting their asses kicked?"_

"_You know they wish they were us."_

"_Course they do." She starts up the stairs, him just a foot or so behind her. Then suddenly, she stops. "Hooking up with pretty angels? Really?"_

"_Really," he nods. _

_She snorts, shakes her head and continues up the stairs. A few minutes later, as they both lean against the table in Ops, they're pretty much side-by-side._

_Neither one of them would have it any other way._

* * *

Kensi enters the bedroom alone, the journal held tightly in her hand. Her eyes immediately track to Deeks, who is sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall_. _Sam is pacing back and forth.

"I got this, Sam," she says softly.

"I'll be right outside."

"I know. We'll be fine."

She waits until he's gone, and then - after putting the journal on the bed - she kneels down next to Deeks, reaches out, takes his hand and squeezes it. "Deeks," she says softly.

He looks up at her. "No, my name is…"

"Marty Deeks. Your name is Marty Deeks." She lifts her hands up and touches both sides of his heavily bearded cheeks with her soft palms. "And I promise you, if it kills me, I'm going to help you remember who you are."

"Why?" he demands.

"Because I miss the man you are. He's my partner. He's my friend. He's a damn good man. And I want him back."

**TBC...**


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: First, thank you for the continued kind words of encouragement. They are very much appreciated.  
**

**A few quick story notes here: you might want to go back and read the last couple sections of chapter 15 (starting from when Kensi gets to the safe house). A small edit was done. It's nothing major but it helps feed into this chapter. **

**Second, in this chapter, I am taking some massive creative liberties with Deeks' past. I'm sure the show will go a different way, but it felt important to address his childhood. I hope you like and understand the direction I went here. **

**Finally, as of this part, the K/D relationship takes a significant (though not graphic) romantic step forward. For those who have no interest in the relationship, but only the partnership, I apologize. I feel as though I've earned the ability to pair these two, but I certainly understand the disappointment if you would have preferred that path not be taken. I hope you enjoy this chapter just the same. **

**EDITED TO ADD: Due to an unexpected issue, chapter 17 will be delayed by a week. It should be posted by July 4th at the latest. Apologies in advance.  
**

**Again, thank you.**

* * *

"How'd he sleep?" Callen asks as he enters the safe house with Sam. The two of them had gone back to their individual homes for a quick nap a few hours earlier. They'd wanted to stay in case anything had gone down with Deeks, but Nate has made it clear that this deprograming wouldn't take place within one session.

Or within one day.

He's insistent that they go slow with Deeks, try not to overwhelm him. If they do, if they force him to become Deeks again before he's ready, it won't be anymore real to him than the Jimmy Reese persona is.

Eventually, for this to work, he has to remember not because he's being told to do so, but because he wants to do so. Because he needs to do so.

"Not well," Kensi replies, yawning as she speaks. She tips a cup of coffee back to her lips and takes a hefty swig from it.

"And you?" Sam asks. "Did you sleep at all?" He offers her a bag with two chocolate doughnut bars in it. She accepts it gladly, breaks off half of one, and swallows it almost whole.

"Thanks. And yes, I slept," she replies.

"Don't worry," Nate assures them as he enters holding a cup of coffee of his own. "Hetty and I made sure that she got at least a couple of hours in. Not that she didn't kick and scream a little."

"Oh, I bet she threw one hell of a temper tantrum," Sam chuckles, looking over at Kensi as he does so. She rewards his quip with a dramatic roll of her eyes and then pushes away the bag with the rest of the doughnuts.

"Where's Hetty now?" Callen queries, glancing around.

"Back at Ops," Kensi answers. "Briefing Eric. And Director Vance, I'm sure."

"Is she okay with us beginning without her?" Callen asks.

"She is," Nate confirms.

"So what's Deeks been doing if he hasn't been sleeping?" Sam asks. His eyes are on the TV screen, which shows Deeks hunched over, looking as if he's reading something.

"Not a lot. He's spent most of the night pacing back and forth in there. About ten minutes ago, he finally picked up his mom's journal. He hasn't said a word since he started reading it," Kensi replies.

"You left it with him? Callen questions, his doubt clear.

"I told her to," Nate inserts. "That book, it's full of his mothers' words, her memories. If anything is going to feel like the truth right now, it's that journal."

* * *

_She's terrified. Scared out of her freaking mind. It's one thing to love someone enough to promise each other now and forever. It's a whole other thing to be bringing new life into the world together. _

_And yet, here she is, eight months pregnant and ready to pop._

_For Jillian Marie Brandel – formally known as Jillian Marie Deeks – of Reseda, California, it's a little late to be worried about whether or not she and Gordy are ready for this. They had damn well better be._

_Especially since Martin or Megan is coming soon. Like, tonight soon, she thinks._

_She's lying in the full-sized bed that she shares with Gordy in their tiny two-bedroom apartment. The square footage of this place is absurd – less than six hundred feet total – but for two kids who grew up poor on the bad side of town – it's home and it's paradise._

_Besides, as Gordy always likes to say in that super corny tone of his, "All we need is each other, baby."_

_Gordy is like that. Romantic and sweet. His daddy was an abusive jerk with a misogynistic streak a mile long. Her daddy was an absentee drunk. It's always been funny to both of them that they've always wanted what the other had and hated – she wanted a father to be around, he wished his would go the hell away._

_She wonders what kind of parents they'll be. She wonders if all parents start out with hopes and dreams a mile long. She wonders where things go wrong and if things already do, in fact, go wrong. Around these parts, they sure seem to. _

"_Baby," Gordy says, his fingers weaving into hers. "You all right?" He's half asleep which causes his voice to slur. One might think him drunk, but Gordy's never been much of a drinker. Maybe a beer or two if he goes out with his buddies after work, but rarely if ever more than that._

"_Yeah," she whispers, and then winces. Yup, the baby is coming tonight. At first, she'd thought it was just one of those Braxton-Hicks things that Chelsea from next door had warned her about (and Chelsea should know; she has six kids already and she's only twenty-three), but the contractions have been getting closer and closer together for the last hour. She's dead certain that it's time. "But I think maybe we should head to the hospital."_

_His eyes fly open. It's almost comical, and she can't stop the smile that forms over the top of the grimace she's wearing. "Now?" he asks._

"_Now."_

_And then he's up. It's so wonderfully clichéd. He dashes around like a madman, going in every direction. When he finally returns, his wavy blonde hair is going every which way and his shirt is on inside out._

"_Take a breath, Gordy. We can do this," she tells him. She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezes it tight. Almost immediately, he seems to relax._

"_So," he says with a nervous laugh. "Last chance to get your bet in."_

"_Marty," she laughs. "We're definitely having a Marty."_

"_All right. So I'm getting a boy tonight, huh?"_

"_Yes, you are."_

* * *

She's taken no more than a step inside the door of the bedroom before he throws the journal at her. "What the fuck is that?" he demands as the book hits the wall next to her and falls to the ground.

"I slept well, too, thank you for asking," she comments dryly before leaning down to pick up the journal. She sets it back down on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm trapped in a little room and like my head is being fucked with."

"You know," she tells him, not showing any intention of coming any closer to him. At least not yet. "In all of our time working together, I think I've heard you say that word maybe five times. I'm usually the…potty mouth of the two of us."

He points at the journal. "What is it?"

"Letters your mother wrote. To you."

"I don't…I don't have a mother."

"Of course you do," she replies. "Do you think you were hatched?" Her words are wildly inappropriate right now and yet she can't stop them from spilling out. It's amazing to her that that this absurd Jimmy Reese persona, which appears to have been pieced together with duct tape (or blood and heroin in this case) is still holding together – if only slightly now.

His lip quirks up in a hint of a smile, and for a moment, she thinks that he's going to fire back a typical Deeks response. But then, as if realizing that he doesn't actually have an answer to her question, he instead stammers, "No."

"Good answer," she nods. "Now, you think maybe you're ready to talk?"

But then he shakes his head, almost violently. "No," he says again. " This is a waste of time. I'm not this Deeks guy. This is all just a…it's just one giant mind-fuck. I know who I am. I'm Jimmy Reese and –"

"And seven months ago, I was Kara Barstow."

He looks confused for a beat, and then, within the space of a few seconds, his face morphs into something much uglier. Something which can only be called rage mixed with fear. It's a strange look for him – one that seems to age him considerably. She doesn't have much time to dwell on it, however, because just moments later, he lunges at her, hands reaching towards her throat.

Far more rested than he is now, she easily evades him. He stumbles forward, collapsing into a graceless forward heap upon the carpeted floor. She's behind him quickly, yanking his arms back, and pressing a knee into his back. She feels a bit of pain in her own arm as she does so – the ache owing to the bullet that had grazed her shoulder just a few days earlier.

Thanks to him.

"Stop," she orders. "I need you to stop doing this." She pulls his arms tighter, forcing him to submit. She abhors having to do this, but sees no alternative.

"What did you do to her?" he growls. "If you hurt her, I'm going to fucking –"

"Deeks," she snaps, pulling his arms tighter again. "I need you to stop fighting me for a minute and try to listen to me. Please."

"No…"

"Dammit, listen! Kara Barstow never existed. We made her up. Same as we did Jimmy Reese. They were aliases created so that we could go undercover and get to Kassel. They were never real. You and me, _we're_ real. Us."

"What you are is a lying bitch," he replies, still struggling against her. It occurs to her then, as she holds him easily, how much weight he's lost. She's lost a considerable amount herself thanks to lack of sleep and appetite, but he's got the body of a drug addict. Just about skin and bones now.

"No," Kensi insists, frustration peppering her tone. "I know this is hard right now. I know you don't know who or what to trust. I know…I know you don't trust me."

She's a bit amazed by just how much it hurts to say those words.

"Why should I?" he demands. "Why should I trust you? You're just a face and a name to me. A bitch I'm supposed to kill."

She ignores the threat and the name-calling and focuses instead on the bigger question at hand. "You shouldn't trust me," she admits. "Not yet anyway. But if you listen to me, if you just…if you just give me a chance, I can help you remember who you are."

"Mr. Kassel already told me who I am. Why should I believe you over him?"

Kensi turns her head slightly, glancing up towards a camera that is mounted in the vent on the ceiling. Right about now, she's wishing Nate was in here instead of her. He's insistent that she's the one that can break through. He's dead certain that the bond that exists between the partners is the key to getting Deeks back.

"That's what I thought," he mutters. "You're wasting your time."

"I sure as hell hope not," she admits. "Look, if I let you go, will you promise not to try to attack me again?"

"No," he answers, meeting her eyes. For just the briefest of moments, she almost thinks she sees the old mischievousness of Deeks there, challenging her, pushing her. But when his eyes harden, she's pretty sure she just imagined it.

"Then I guess we just stay like this for the next couple of hours, my knee in your back and both of our arms very sore. That sound like a plan to you?"

"Fine," he growls. "I'll be good."

"Fantastic," she answers, then releases his arms. She rubs at her own shoulder, feeling the gauze of the bandage. The wound is partially healed and unlikely to break back open and bleed, but it stills aches enough to be noticeable.

"Why does this Deeks guy mean so much to you? What's he got that I don't?"

It's an absurd question, but she doesn't laugh. Instead she says softly, "I'll tell you everything you want to know if you'll let me."

He stares at her, and she thinks that just maybe, he's going to let her in, let her try to make sense of the mess that is his mind right now. After all, even he knows that something is very wrong with his memories. Absent the heroin, even he can see the gaping holes in the story of Jimmy Reese's life.

But then he shakes his head, his face contorting into an ugly sneer. "No."

"No," she repeats.

"You heard me. "

"Right," she agrees. "I heard you."

"Good. So leave."

"No," she says simply. "No way. You're stuck with me, Deeks. You and me, we're stuck together whether we like it or not." She leans in, "We've been that way since the day Hetty paired us. We sure as hell didn't like it then, either."

* * *

"_Deeks?" Kensi says again. "I mean, I understood working with him for one job and I get it that he's our liaison now. I can deal with that, but shouldn't he be hanging out back in the office, maybe up in Ops with Eric? You know, doing logistics and making phone calls to ease our way? As a good liaison does?"_

"_Mr. Deeks is a field operative," Hetty replies._

"_And a damn good undercover one, too," Deeks puts in. "Don't forget that."_

"_Whatever. Okay, so fine, he's a field operative. Wouldn't it still really make more sense to pair him with Sam and me with Callen?"_

"_No," Hetty says simply. _

_It's a few days after the incident with Traynor and Scarli, and Deeks seems to be back to himself. Obnoxiously so. He's standing a few feet away from her, in the middle of the bullpen, watching her with curious eyes and a small smile._

"_You know," he nods, "I think Kensi has a point. She and I, we're not likely to ever make a good partnership. She's a pain in the ass and I'm –"_

_Kensi can't help but snort in reaction. "The King of the Pain in the Asses."_

"_Which must make you my Queen."_

"_Oh please. Hetty, come on. Look at us…"_

"_I'm sorry, Ms. Blye, my decision is final. Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna are a team of their own. Breaking them up would be a bad decision. Besides, I see great potential for you two."_

"_If they don't kill each other first," Sam chuckles as he and Callen enter from the gym. Both of them are soaked with sweat and Callen has a basketball under his arm. He sets it down on his desk, and drops into his chair._

"_Fine," Kensi sighs. "Fine." Then, turning to Deeks, she tells him sternly. "I have rules, though."_

"_Of course you do."_

"_What the hell is that supposed to mean?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_Deeks."_

"_It's just…despite your ability to convincingly double as Rambo, you're still a woman, Kensi, and all women have rules. Tons of rules."_

"_Well then since you're such the expert on women and rules, you won't mind a few more," Kensi shoots back, ignoring the smirks that Sam and Callen keep tossing back and forth. For her part, Hetty is just watching everything with a shrewd smile, like she somehow already knows how this is all going to work out._

_Thing is, she probably does._

"_Let's have them then," Deeks answers gamely._

"_I drive. Always."_

_He turns to look at Sam and Callen. "She's kidding, right?"_

"_I wouldn't assume that," Callen warns. "She has a thing about driving. Luckily for us, she's the junior agent. We have seniority."_

"_You don't, Deeks," Kensi finishes. "Which means you ride shotgun."_

"_Okay, you drive. Got it. Next?"_

"_I'm the senior agent between us. What I say goes."_

"_You're a partnership," Hetty corrects, stepping forward. "You two will work together. That means making decisions together."_

"_I'm good with that," Deeks replies. He looks over to Kensi, as if challenging her. She's fairly certain that he's no more keen on this partnership than she is, but he's not going to be the one backing down now. _

"_All right," she mutters. "But when this whole thing goes to hell – and it will – don't any of you say I didn't warn you."_

"_So noted, Ms. Blye," Hetty nods. "Now, if you two will come with me, there's some paperwork that I need you to fill out."_

* * *

"I…I think…I think I remember that," Deeks says softly. But before she can react with happiness or relief, he slaps his forehead. "But it was all a lie. A…a job. Deeks – he was all a lie. I…Jimmy, me…Kassel had me pretend to be Jimmy so that I could…get in with Feds and…the real Deeks is dead. He's dead."

He's babbling now, desperately clinging to the weak set of Swiss cheesed lies that Kassel had told him during his drug-filled captivity.

"No, you are Marty Deeks. The real Deeks. We showed your picture to your mother and she confirmed it. You're her son." She holds up the journal again. "These are her words to you. Not to anyone else. You. Her son."

His head snaps up. "If that's the truth, then why didn't she come to see me herself, huh?"

"We asked her not to," Kensi lies.

"You're lying."

"Are you sure?" she counters. "I mean how could you possibly know that? I mean, if you're Jimmy and not Deeks, you don't know me, right? You don't know when I'm lying or telling the truth, right?"

"I…I know…I…because I…I don't know."

"Maybe it's because you are Marty Deeks and you do know me and you do know your mother," she presses.

"I don't…no…"

She shoves the journal back into his hands. "Read it. They're her words. They're her memories. They may not be good memories, but they're real. This is your your childhood, Deeks, and these words, they're what she wants you to know about it."

* * *

_Jillian Marie Brandel knows that something has gone very wrong long before she gets the call. It's two-thirty in the morning, and Gordy still hasn't returned home. _

_Her three-year-old Marty is sound asleep in her arms, his wild blonde mane going every which way. Every now and again, he babbles something crazy and incoherent and turns a bit. He's a noisy sleeper and it's utterly adorable._

_Her eyes continue to drift up towards the clock on the wall. Two-thirty turns to three and three to three-thirty. This isn't like Gordy at all. He's not the all-nighter kind of guy. His buddies like to knock back a few, but usually Gordy is the designated driver of the group. As the minutes tick by, she becomes more and more certain that she's never going to see her husband again._

_Then the phone rings. Loud enough to wake Marty, who comes to with a loud cry. She's so surprised by both the ringing sound and his sudden wails, that she comes about as close as she ever has to dropping him. Only a last minute grab keeps her son from tumbling to the shag carpet below them._

_Slowly, she lifts the phone and stammers out, "Hello?"_

_The man on the other side asks her if her name is Jillian Brandel. She replies that it is, and then tries to force out the only question that really matters: is he dead?_

_Far too terrified to actually ask the question, she instead listens to the man as he tells her that her husband has been involved in a terrible car accident, and that she should come to the hospital as quickly as she can. He makes it sound like there might not be a lot of time left._

_Having no one to leave Marty with (Chelsea next door is surely awake, but she's on her seventh child now and that's just too many for any one woman to watch over), Jillian drives she and her son to a hospital across town._

_As she holds Marty – who is confused, and scared and tired – close in her arms, the doctor tells her that Gordy and his work friends had been side-swiped by a drunk driver. Apparently, at the last moment, Gordy had tried to swerve out of the way, and ended up sending his Cadillac hood-first into a brick wall. Of the six men involved in the crash, only one had survived it. _

_Gordy. _

_When the doctor tells her this, she feels the relief flood through her, and the tears run down her face. "Thank God," she says._

_A moment later, the doctor says the words that will effectively destroy her marriage, her life and her sons' childhood. "Your husband is holding on, Mrs. Brandel, and we're optimistic that he's going to pull through, but you need to know, he suffered an extremely serious spinal injury in the accident."_

"_Is he paralyzed?" she asks._

_The answer to that question ends up coming fairly quickly: No, he's not paralyzed, but he is severely hurt, and there's not a hell of a lot that anyone can do for him. So instead, the doctors give him high dosage painkillers and apologize for the constant flashes of agony that wind their way up and down his spine. They pretty much shrug and tell him that he's going to have to gut it out._

_If the pain were just the worst of it, she's certain that she could have pulled him through it. The guilt and anger are worse, though. He dreams every single night of the car crash and remembers every morning that he is the only survivor._

_He's simply not strong enough to deal with the emotions and the pain together._

_And so Gordy does what her father had once done; he turns to the bottle. Alcohol and painkillers become his only relief. He spends the vast majority of his time either stoned or drunk now – whatever it takes to not feel either the emotional or physical pain. And all the while, his rage mounts._

_Slowly, but surely, Jillian Brandel feels the man she fell in love with slipping away and knows that there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop it._

* * *

She lets him rest for a few hours, and attempts to take a nap of her own. Try as she might, though, she can't get the words of the journal out of her head long enough to actually allow sleep to take her.

Morning turns to afternoon and then to night on the second day. It's clear that there are holes being punched into the Jimmy Reese persona, but he's still holding onto it, as if still uncertain what will happen to him if he surrenders it.

At just before dinnertime, she re-enters the room with a bag of McDonalds.

"Hey," she says, holding it up. "Hot and greasy."

"No bread and water?" he quips.

"Wow," she says. "You almost sounded like yourself there."

"I wish I knew who that was," he tells her, sounding exhausted and wary. He takes the food from her, pops a couple of fries, and then pushes the rest away.

"But you know it's not Jimmy," she notes. Nate had told her that this would happen as the deprogramming progressed. It's almost like Deeks is stuck in some strange faceless limbo between Jimmy Reese and Marty Deeks.

"I don't understand what's happened to me."

"I know. And I wish I had answers for you. I wish I could explain to you why Kassel did what he did. I can't."

"Did he hurt you, too?"

She says nothing for almost a moment, then quietly replies, "He did." It's as much of an admission as she cares to provide, as much as she'll give anyone.

"And then I hurt you." He points towards her arm.

"Just a scratch," she says with a smile.

"You…you'd say that even if it wasn't, right? You'd…you'd say that you were… that you were fine, wouldn't you?"

"I would."

"I keep having these…feelings…emotions…something." Then, looking up at her, eyes wide, he asks," Why does Kassel hate you? Why did he send you after me? I can't…I don't know what's real. I don't know what's not…"

"I know. And the reason he sent you after me is because I got away from him."

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You're here. Right now. With us. With me."

"So he'll come after both of us now?"

"We're pretty unstoppable together you and me."

"We are?"

"Yeah. When you manage to shut up for a minute that is," she says with a smile.

* * *

_He wakes up to the sound of rain slamming against the windows of the beach house, the wind howling as it crashes against the glass panes. The master bedroom that he and Kensi are sleeping in is cloaked in darkness thanks to the violent storm that is ravaging the coast._

_A well-timed violent storm that is. This undercover operation has been exhausting for both he and Kensi and right now, absolutely nothing sounds better than a weekend of nothing but sleep and relaxation._

_Unfortunately for both of them, he's having a hell of a time staying asleep._

_They're lying together in the king sized bed in the master bedroom, both curled up under the massive comforter. They're just a few inches away from each other, close enough to feel the heat rolling off each other. Right about now, he's wondering what she would do if he reached out and pulled her close. Probably punch him, he thinks.  
_

_"Deeks," she says suddenly, her voice thick and throaty. "If you don't stop fidgeting around, I'm going to kick you."  
_

_"Sorry," he apologizes.  
_

_She__ groans in response. Then, after a moment, she rolls to face him. "Everything okay?"_

"_Yeah, just can't sleep."_

"_Try closing your eyes," she suggests._

_He laughs. "That's what my mom used to say to me."_

"_Smart woman."_

"_Yeah," he answers, but there's an unmistakable hint of sadness in his tone. She doesn't know a hell of a lot about his past, but he's told her enough for her to understand that his upbringing hadn't exactly been a happy one._

"_Go to sleep," she says. "I'm exhausted. I'm sure you are, too."_

"_I am," he confirms. _

"_Good. Goodnight."_

"_Goodnight."_

_She spins away again and closes her eyes. After a moment, though, feeling the tension of his body (even if he's not touching her), she turns back. "Okay, what is it? Are you going to tell me what's going on in that stupid blonde head of yours?"_

"_Well that was rude."_

"_And I'm half asleep so either talk or let me sleep. Pick quickly."_

"_I'm worried about Sanchez," he admits._

"_You think he'll sell us out?"_

"_It's a possibility."_

"_Okay. So what else?"_

"_What?"_

"_You've been worried about Sanchez since day one. So have I. What's really bothering you? And I swear to God, if you say me…"_

"_Goodnight," he says again._

"_Dammit, Deeks," she growls. _

"_You're my partner. I have the right to worry."_

"_Well do you think maybe you could worry quietly, please?"_

"_Excuse me?" he asks._

"_I'm tired. I want to sleep. If you're going to insist on acting like Sam about this, then could you at least do it without keeping me awake?"_

"_You think I'm like Sam?"_

"_What?"_

"_You think I'm big and studly and could bench press a Marine with my neck?"_

_She laughs. "No, that's ridiculous. I doubt you could bench press a pencil with your arms."_

"_Awesome."_

"_But he is a chronic worrier. Which drives me nuts. And right now, you're driving me nuts. Therefore…"_

"_Therefore, I must be Sam."_

"_Exactly. Without the muscles."_

"_Fantastic. I think I'm ready to sleep now."_

"_Great. Eyes closed."_

"_You know, when I couldn't sleep, my mom…"_

"_Don't you dare finish that sentence," she orders._

_"Why? It's not like I was going to say anything dirty. Geez, where's your mind?"_

"_Not asleep, that's for damn sure."_

_He smirks. "Fine. Closing my eyes. I'll see you in the morning."_

"_Unless I smother you with my pillow first," she replies in an entirely too chipper voice. She doesn't see his raised eyebrow, but she feels him shake his head._

_She can't help but smile in response._

* * *

Day three starts with breakfast. She brings him pancakes and orange juice. He eats only a little bit of it, and then offers her the rest. She turns it down.

"You're as screwed up as I am, aren't you?" he asks.

"I'm fine," she tells him.

"You're lying again."

"Maybe. I see you've been reading your moms' journal."

"Yeah."

"Do you remember any of it?"

"Some. I remember…some things."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I remember my mother," he says. "I remember her face. It was always so sad, but back then, I guess I just didn't realize it."

* * *

_He's just over six years old, and he's by far the cutest boy on the block. His blonde hair is unruly and uncombed, a frantic mess of curls and waves. Sitting in the sand of the playground (which is not much more than a rusted out old swing-set and a painted metal slide), his bright blue eyes gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, you might even think he was the happiest kid you've ever seen._

_Until you came a few steps closer that is._

_Around the Neighborhood, folks know better than to do that. They know better because they already know what they'll see and they're well aware that they lack the courage to do anything about it. So instead, they smile and laugh and talk about how freaking hot it is even though the temperature is perfectly normal for this time of year, and perhaps even a bit cool._

_Not one of them mentions the little blonde boy playing in the sand. Not one of them says a word about the fact that it's almost ninety out and he's wearing jeans and long sleeves. It's clear that he's covering something up – something that shouldn't be there – but they all pretend to notice nothing out of the ordinary._

_It's just easier that way. Less complicated. Less horrible._

_Then, when everything goes to hell, they can all pretend that they just didn't know. They can tell each other that they weren't complicit and responsible._

_It's just how things are around the Neighborhood. It's how they've always been and how they will always be._

_For his part, little Martin Brandel of 2641 Palm Avenue, Apartment number 3, seems oblivious to it all. He knows that if he moves his right arm just a bit to the left, it aches slightly, but he doesn't seem to care much. After all, there are massive sand castles to build and humongous twisting slides to conquer._

_And he has her. His mother._

_She's blonde like him, and she has a smile that lights up every room she walks into. He's too young to realize that the smile is only real when she's looking at him. All he knows is that when she turns her ocean blue eyes towards him, she's beautiful in a way that defies the vocabulary of a six-year-old boy._

"_Mom," he calls out. "Mom, come look!"_

_She's standing with other women from the Neighborhood, and she could easily remind him of that, tell him that she's in the middle of an adult conversation and that he'll need to wait until she's done, but she's never done that before and she's not about to do that now. _

_Instead, seeming almost relieved, Jillian Brandel steps away from the ladies, and just about glides over towards him._

"_What do we have here, Marty?" she asks, her hand reaching out to thread her fingers into his too long hair. Gordon – no longer Gordy (he's taken on a sudden hatred for that old childhood name and won't allow anyone – including his own wife – to call him by it) wants him to cut it, but so far, she's managed to win the battle to let Marty wear it a bit long. _

_For now, Gordon lets her have this one. Mostly, she assumes, because he doesn't really care. When he decides that he does, she'll have to figure out how important this fight is to her. Is it important enough to endure his wrath?_

_That's how she judges just about everything with Gordon these days. How angry will this make him and more importantly, how much will he hurt them? _

_In the early days after his back injury, he'd taken out his occasional alcohol and drug-fueled rages on just her. It always goes the same way for them; they argue, he hits her and then hours later, he comes begging for forgiveness. Back when it had first started, before she'd realized that she wasn't nearly as strong as she needed to be to walk away from him, she'd been stern with him. Told him that if it ever happened again, she'd take Marty and that would be the last he'd ever see of them. _

_Early on, his reaction had been typical of this kind of awful situation. He'd begged her not to leave him. He'd told her that he couldn't survive without them and that if he lost them, well then he'd probably just eat a bullet._

_By the fifth time they'd repeated the cycle, she'd begun to understand that things between them had broken. It took a few more times for her to understand the bigger issue, though: he was the one that was broken, it was him. Just him._

_Still, even a different man, she loves Gordon and so she stays with him. Hoping and praying that one morning, she'll roll over to see his formerly impish smile staring back at her. That day never comes, though, and after three years of waiting for it to, she's finally begun to accept that it never will. _

_No, this is Gordon now. Quiet, moody, constantly stoned and drunk, occasionally angry, impatient and generally unhappy._

_He spends his days working in the office of a construction company. He hates his job and doesn't even bother to hide it. When he comes home, he drops onto the couch and after popping several painkillers, he always demands a beer. When she tries to suggest that maybe they talk or do something else, he usually yells at her to just do as she's told and be quick about it. Nowadays, he wants her to be quiet and submissive all the time – even in their so-called lovemaking. _

_And Marty, well he wants Marty to be obedient and silent – even in his play. _

_Worse than that, though, he wants six year old Marty to be a man. He has no use for playful childish ways anymore. Unfortunately for him, Marty is a boy who enjoys laughing entirely too much. He's silly and goofy and has no desire to grow up a day sooner than he has to._

_The old Gordon would have loved that. His childhood had been hard and he'd always wanted his family to have everything he couldn't. He'd always wanted his child to grow up happy as he'd never had the opportunity to. That had been the old Gordon, the one that Jillian Deeks had fallen in love with._

_This Gordon is exactly like his own daddy. Mean and angry and often cruel in his punishments. And much like his own daddy, Gordon has begun to use violence and force to make every one of his points. In her mind, Jillian has started to see him as nothing but a weak and pathetic man – sometimes, not much of a man at all._

_The day he'd struck Marty across the face with the back of his hand merely because the little boy had jokingly refused to get him a beer as asked, Jillian had realized that Gordon wasn't the only weak and pathetic parent that Marty had. _

_Unfortunately for Marty, she's just as bad. She's tried to rationalize her weakness away by saying that she has nowhere for them to go – no family to turn to. She has no job – Gordon has always brought home all of the income. Her job has always been to mind the boy. So now, where would she go? What would she do?_

_So she and Marty stay with Gordon. And each time, she draws a new line in the sand of what it would take to leave. Inevitably, she ends up erasing the line and redrawing it somewhere else. _

_"Castle Snake Eyes," Marty replies, pulling her forcefully out of her dark thoughts. He gestures proudly at his sand creation. It's clumpy, and sloppy, but Jillian looks at it like it's a work of pure art._

"_Castle Snake Eyes," she repeats. "Why Castle Snake Eyes, baby?"_

"_Because it sounds cool. Who's going to try to take on Castle Snake Eyes?" He's grinning widely, showing off two gaps where there used to be teeth. One of them had fallen out naturally, but the other, she remembers with a sharp pang of guilt and self-hatred, Gordon had knocked out when he had again slapped Marty – this time for "talking smart to his daddy"._

_Marty seems to have that problem a lot. Even at six years old, he's got a quick wit and a fast mouth. That might eventually serve him well around the Neighborhood (she shudders to think), but it certainly does him no good in his own house and around a daddy who spends most of his nights drunk and angry._

"_No one," she admits as she kneels down next to him. _

_Tonight, she thinks to herself, I'll leave Gordon. While he's sleeping, I'll pack a bag for me and Marty, and we'll go to a shelter somewhere. Tonight, we'll leave._

_Tonight, she knows, she'll be right where she was last night and the night before that; lying next to Gordon in their bed, listening to him toss and turn through another violent nightmare, wishing that he'd had just one more beer before bed – enough to make his sleep dreamless. _

_Tonight, she knows, she'll get up around two in the morning, then make her way down the hallway and into Marty's bedroom. She'll stand near the door, watching him sleep, wishing she had the courage to scoop him up into her arms and carry him away to safety._

_She knows better. No matter the many lines that she's drawn, she's not strong enough. Not for herself and not for him. She's a failure at pretty much everything, but being that for him is the one thing that she'll never forgive herself for. _

_Now, sitting next to him in the sandbox of the park, she removes her hand from his hair, and reaches down to touch his cheek, cupping it gently. If he was older and understood adult emotion, he'd recognize her expression as one of deep sadness. That understanding won't come to him for several more years. _

_Today, on this warm summer afternoon, all he knows is that the one person he loves most in the world is sitting next to him, admiring his handiwork. _

_For six-year-old Marty Brandel, despite the aching bruises and welts on his arms (marks his Mom insists he covers up) and the soreness of his bottom (all somewhat painful reminders of having "let down daddy"), this is the good life. _

_He has no idea how wrong he is._

* * *

There's nothing more she'd like right now than to stop. This forced trip down Deeks' memory lane, it feels wrong and intrusive, but worse than that, it's clearly hideously painful for him, and she hates that she's the one hurting him.

But suddenly, just as she's about to call it quits for the day, Nate is in her ear, his voice coming across the earwig that he'd insisted she'd wear from now on.

"Keep going," he says gently. "This is good."

She wants to argue with him, but instead reaches out and touches Deeks' arm.

"I don't want to…I don't…" he offers her the journal.

"I know," she replies. She slides her hand to his. Then, with a smile, she says, "You know, when this is all over, I'm going to owe you a few hits."

"A few hits?"

"For shooting me."

"Didn't you kick me in the crotch?"

"I more stepped on your crotch. And you have to admit, you deserved that."

"You always have to win, don't you?" he asks.

She smiles and then says teasingly, "I think you're remembering more than you're letting on, Partner."

* * *

_Some of the nights on this assignment have been boring as hell. Some have been full of action and drama. Strangely enough for a guy who typically prefers undercover ops to have as little downtime as is possible, the evenings that Marty Deeks likes the best are the ones he spends next to his partner on the couch._

_Typically, they sit by side on the sofa, watching TV. Usually some hideous reality show. Kensi has quite the thing for them, and if he's honest with himself, he finds her obsession with makeover and talent shows somewhat adorable. Actually, what he finds adorable is how much she gets into them._

_They're two weeks into the job, and he has a rare night away from having to wander around the Los Angeles valley pretending to be a drug dealing college kid who is in way over his head. Tonight, the partners are doing nothing more than enjoying an evening of Chinese take-out (he loves rice, she has a thing for noodles) and some ridiculous dancing and singing show on NBC._

_Kensi is in rare form tonight, hollering and cheering, and making comments about every contestant – some kind and some rude. She's snarky and witty, but mostly it's her laugh that he hears. Over and over._

_He's never seen her like this. It's a bit of an unexpected gift, he thinks. And a wonderful one at that._

_They're in the middle of a hellacious undercover assignment, and they both know that their apartment is bugged to holy hell, but right now, she seems completely at ease. Happy and in her own skin. Of course, he knows better. He knows that even if she appears to be letting down her hair (both literally and figuratively) and relaxing, she's just milliseconds away from being back on guard if need be. _

"_She's pretty," he says about a woman in her mid twenties with a bold voice._

_Kensi shrugs, "Big teeth. And I wouldn't have worn those shoes."_

_He almost fires back a joke about this coming from a woman who is most comfortable in steel-toed boots, but at the last moment, Deeks remembers where they are – and who they're supposed to be (Jimmy and Kara) and stops himself. Instead, he smirks at her, and lifts an eyebrow._

_The expression is rewarded with a fist to the shoulder. He's amazed by how much he's missed that while they've been playing house in the skins of two other people who have such a different relationship. Jimmy and Kara, maybe they love each other on paper and there's some loyalty and dedication, but the way they interact, it doesn't feel like friendship._

_Deeks almost shakes his head when he realizes that he's thinking about Jimmy and Kara like they're real people. They're not, of course. They're just characters, and it's utterly absurd to be psychoanalyzing a relationship that isn't real to begin with. It's bizarre to be holding a fake engagement up against a real partnership._

_And yet he is._

_As he watches Kensi laugh and point and heckle, he thinks about what this woman means to him._

_Everything._

_And good God if that isn't the scariest thought he's ever had._

"_Honey?" she says suddenly, and he sees that her dark eyes are worried._

"_I'm good," he tells her. "Just tired."_

"_If you want, go to bed. You don't have to stay up with me."_

"_Nowhere I'd rather be," he replies. And he means it. They lock eyes, and he knows in that moment that she understands exactly what he's saying._

_It's enough to make her look away from him. _

_Deeks, of course, does what he always does; he lightens the situation up. "So what about her? I mean, yeah, the skirt is ugly and I'm not sure what she's got going on with her hair, but –"_

"_Oh, she's cute," Kensi says, clearly just to be contrary._

"_Cute."_

"_Yeah."_

_He rolls his eyes. "Fine, then I'm rooting for Big Teeth. You can root for Cute."_

"_Fine. I win, you're doing the dishes for the next week."_

"_Okay. I win, you're giving me a back massage for the next week."_

"_Really?"_

"_Unless you're scared to lose that is," he taunts._

_But he knows his partner too well by now; she'll never back down from a challenge – especially not a direct one._

"_Of course not, baby," she purrs in response, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief and determination. "But when you lose, I expect you to hand wash and dry everything. The machine keeps leaving gunk on the glasses."_

"_And when you lose, I expect you to really get your knuckles into it."_

"_Oh, honey," she assures him with a dangerous smile. "If I lose, and I never lose, I promise you, I'll get my knuckles into it. Really into it."_

_He knows that this is about the time they should both pull back. Neither one of them sounds like Jimmy or Kara at this point. No, despite the terms of endearment that they're throwing back and forth like hand grenades, they're full on Kensi and Deeks right about now. _

_Luckily for them, there's no possible way that Kassel would be able to really tell the difference – he doesn't know them well enough. At least not yet. He knows social Jimmy and Kara, not the "private" versions. He probably assumes that this teasing back and forth is them._

_Still, they both know that it's dangerous to slip out of character for even a moment, and already in the first two weeks of this op, they've had more than a few moments where it's happened. They need to be careful. Much more careful._

_That knowledge of that need to be cautious doesn't stop him from giving her his best smile – the one that has, on more than one occasion, literally charmed the panties off of a beautiful woman – and replies, "You're on." And then, his smiling growing so that it just about it touches his eyes, he adds, "My Sweet."_

_She rolls her eyes, then turns to the TV and says to the woman on the screen, "Let's go, Cute. Bring it home for me." Then, glancing one more at Deeks, she simply winks at him. _

_Yeah, these are the nights that he enjoys the best._

* * *

"Please. Please. No more," he begs her, his body shaking beneath the weight of the memories.

She glances over at the camera, her eyes pleading with it – with her team on the other side of it – to please, stop. For him. For her. For both of them.

"Just a little bit more," Nate presses. "Go back to his past."

She turns her attention back to Deeks, and offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile. "We're almost done for the night," she tells him. "But maybe, before I leave, you think maybe you could talk to me about your dad again?"

"I don't want to."

"I don't want to, either, Deeks. Believe me, I don't want to be doing this. But, we have to, okay? We have to."

He closes his eyes, and she thinks she sees tears leaking down, spilling across his ashy sunken in cheeks. "I hated him," he says softly. "Even at nine years old, I already knew that I hated him."

* * *

_He's nine years old and thunderously angry. A boy his age shouldn't know the kind of rage that Martin Brandel does, and even he knows that he shouldn't be pissed for the reasons that he is, but right now, he's seconds away from one hell of a meltdown._

_He's standing on the curb outside of the barber's shop, and his parents are two feet away from, having a ferocious knockdown. Over him, of course._

_Which these days, is pretty the norm._

_He's nine, but he's smart. Around here, you have to be eleven when you're nine and fifteen when you're eleven. Around this Neighborhood, you either get wise quick or you end up being a nobody thug in some other dipshits' gang._

_He's nine, but already Marty knows that he has no interest in being part of a gang. His best friend Ray is twelve years old and already Ray sounds like he thinks maybe there's no hope for him. If Marty were older and understood the world just a little bit better, he'd be inclined to agree._

_Right now, though, he doesn't give a shit._

_Right now, he just doesn't want to lose his hair._

_But his daddy – no, his father – has made the decision. It's time for him to grow up a bit. He's no longer a cute little boy. And Gordon John Brandel is going to be God-damned if his son is going to look like a girl because he likes to wear his blonde locks a bit wild and long. _

"_Gordy," his mom snaps. "Please."_

"_I told you not to call me that."_

"_Gordy."_

"_Shut up," Gordon growls, and Marty thinks he sees his father's right hand twitch. It's enough to make Marty take a step backwards. Most of the time, his father is a quiet and broody man, who spends all of his time either away from the apartment or on the couch with a beer in his hand. Most of the time, his father is more than happy to leave him alone._

_When he's not, though, when his father is angry, there's always pain involved._

_At age six, Marty had only known that things ached. He'd believed then that his naughty behavior had been the reason that his daddy had hurt him._

_At age nine, Marty knows enough to realize that his actions aren't always connected to why his father is so angry. And the punishments – sometimes a hard slap across the face (painful), sometimes a belt to the backside (humiliating) and sometimes a night spent out naked in the backyard in forty-five degree weather (terrifying) make no sense to him. He can't imagine what he could have possibly done to upset his father so terribly._

_All he knows is that with each passing day, his feelings for his father darken. _

"_Into the shop, Marty," Gordon bellows, his hand clenching tighter._

"_No."_

"_Fine," is the sharp reply, and immediately, Marty knows that he'll pay for his stubbornness. It might seem to everyone else that this is a battle that he's won, but he as he looks back at his father, and into turbulent damaged eyes, he knows that this punishment might be worse than anything that's come before it._

_He's not wrong._

_His mother screams and begs and swears that she's going to call the cops. She tells his father that if he doesn't stop, she'll leave come nightfall. She even says that she'll kill him if he doesn't immediately cease and desist._

_The words mean nothing to his father. Gordon simply sees them for what they are – empty threats voiced by a weak woman without the courage to walk away._

_By the end of the night, Marty's blonde hair is almost completely gone. He's been shaved all the way down and is now wearing the cut that a kid might get on his first day in Boot Camp. _

_For him, that's bad enough. For Gordon, it's not nearly so. The punishment involves a belt and a fist. By the time it's over and Marty's lying on his stomach in his bed, silently weeping into his pillow, his mother's fingers rubbing against his back, his dark feelings have swelled into hatred._

* * *

"Are you all right, my dear?" Hetty asks as she enters the bathroom of the safe house. She watches as her junior agent again leans over the toilet and finishes throwing up the remainder of the meager lunch that she'd managed to ingest a few hours earlier.

Slowly, Kensi rights herself, and then turns to face Hetty. "No, I'm not. And I don't understand how he could be after we've forced him to relive all of this."

"It's hard –"

"No, it's not hard, it's - excuse my language, Hetty – but it's fucking impossible. And it's awful. We're taking him through the worst memories of his life and we're not asking him if he's okay with it. What if someone did that to one of us?"

"I think we would have to be happy that someone cared about us enough to do it," Hetty suggests, though her normally unreadable eyes seem to be slightly troubled.

"We've all spent so much time trying to hide our pasts from each other…"

"A mistake," Hetty tells her. "But an understandable one."

"This just feels wrong."

"It should feel wrong, Ms. Blye. It is wrong. All of this is. It's very, very wrong. With any luck, though, we're close to a breakthrough."

"You think?" Kensi asks, moving away from the toilet.

"I do. It's clear that he remembers his past. He just hasn't yet connected with it. Remembering is a big piece of it, but Nate is correct when he says that those memories were never actually gone. They were just buried. Connecting emotionally with who he is, remembering that he is Marty Deeks and that he wants to be Marty Deeks, that's the important part."

"Then why are we bothering with the bad stuff? Why not just remind him of the good times he's had. The reason he'd want to be Deeks."

"Because then you'd be lying to him and only telling him half of his story. Life is a sum of its parts, Ms. Blye. You of all people know that. If we remove either the wonderful or the painful moments of your life, you wouldn't be the woman you are today. You surely would not be standing in front of me."

"Sometimes I wonder," Kensi whispers.

"Of course you do. We all do. For what it's worth, though, I'm glad you're here today, and I know that Mr. Deeks is as well. Even if hasn't realized it yet."

"I hope you're right."

"I usually am. Now here, drink this. To clear the taste out," Hetty says as she offers Kensi a cup of water. The brunette takes it gratefully, drinks it, swishes the liquid around in her month, and the spits it into the sink.

"Thanks." She starts for the door, then stops. "You really think he's close?"

"I do."

"Then maybe it's time to go all in," Kensi suggests.

"What did you have in mind?" Hetty asks.

She shrugs. "We do what Deeks does best; we change sight-lines."

* * *

"_You really love doing this kind of stuff don't you?" Kensi asks suddenly. It's the night before the op, and they're still at her apartment, sitting on her couch sharing beers. She's on her third, he's on his second. Neither of them is close to buzzed._

"_Undercover work you mean?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Yeah, I do," he admits._

"_Why?"_

"_Sometimes, I think you have to change sight-lines."_

"_Sight-lines? I mean, I know what the word means. I'm not completely sure I understand what you mean."_

"_Sometimes it's nice to be someone else, someone besides Marty Deeks."_

"_Ah."_

"_Right. I bet you don't ever want to be anyone besides Kensi Blye, huh?"_

_She shrugs._

"_That wasn't an answer."_

"_I like who I am, Deeks."_

"_Most of the time I like who I am, too. Some days, though, I wish I had a different past. Maybe a different upbringing. You can't tell me that some days you don't wish you were a woman who still has both parents. Maybe one who grew up with money and a large family?"_

_She doesn't reply._

"_That's what I thought."_

_"Go home, Deeks."_

_"Okay. But just remember, come morning, you love me."_

_"Well then let me have tonight where I hate you in peace."_

_"As you wish, Princess." He gets up and makes his way to the door, somehow narrowly avoiding being hit by the pillow that she throws at him. "For what it's worth," he says, his back to her. "I'm glad you'll be there with me. Sometimes...sometimes I change my sight-lines too much. Sometimes I get lost in my new sight-lines."_

_She watches him for a moment, realizing that he's not going to turn around to face her. Finally she says, "Don't worry, Deeks, I'll always be there to pull you back and remind you who you are." Her tone is intentionally light, and she means her words to be a joke._

_"I hope so," he says, and for a moment, it's all too serious. And then he laughs. "Ease up on the beers, huh? You don't want to start day one of the op nursing a hangover."_

_She snorts in response. "Please. I can actually hold my liquor."_

_"One of these days, I'm going to test that." And with that, he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him. _

_It doesn't occur to her until much later that he hadn't been talking about the alcohol at all. No, when he'd said that one of these days he was going to test her, he'd been talking about her promise to pull him back.  
_

* * *

"The beach?" Deeks asks as she guides him out to the sand. They're about five miles from the safe house, on a relatively secluded patch of sand. It's just the two of them as far as he knows, but she's well aware of the fact that Callen and Sam are just out of sight, watching them through binoculars and listening to everything that's said over their earpieces.

"It's just about your favorite place to be," she says.

"And yours?"

"No. I'm much more of an asphalt kind of girl."

He doesn't reply, just stares out at the water, watching the waves crash against the sand. Finally, quietly, he says, "I shot my dad. But, I guess you already know that, right? You've probably read every page of that journal. I bet my mom put something in there about it."

"She did," Kensi admits. "But it's okay if you want to talk about it."

"I really don't want to."

"I know."

"But I have to, right? It's the only way I become me again, right?"

"Yeah."

"Fine." He says nothing for several minutes, just watches the water. Then, quietly, "I was eleven years old, almost twelve. My best friend was a fourteen year old kid named Ray. The single coolest dude on the block. He grew up in the middle of a family of ten kids. His dad was a creep and his mom was harried and barely had time to do much more than make sure there was food on the table. Ray, he was the one who taught me everything about well…everything. You know, the things my dad should have taught me. Like how to fire a gun."

* * *

_It's almost two in the morning when eleven-year-old Marty Brandel is woken up by the sound of screaming. This is unfortunately nothing new to him so he doesn't jump from his bed. All he does is pull his blanket tighter around him._

_His parents are yelling at each other. No, that's not quite right. His father is screaming, but his mother is trying to calm him down. He can't tell what they're arguing about, but it has to be something serious. Something big._

_And then he hears his name._

_A moment later, the door to his room slams open, and his father charges in._

"_Get up, you little bastard."_

_Marty blinks, his mind desperately trying to figure out what he could have done to so anger his father. _

"_Gordon, please," his mother begs. "Leave him alone."_

"_Shut up," Gordon growls, then turns his attention back to his son. "Get up. Now."_

_Slowly, Marty crawls out of the bed. He's not on his feet a moment before he feels the impact of his father's fist against his face. It hurts like hell but he's determined not to cry. He's determined to be a man._

_That's what his father keeps telling him he has to be after all._

"_Gordon!"_

"_Where is it?"_

"_Where's what?" Marty asks, hand on his throbbing cheek._

"_My money. Where is my money?"_

"_I don't know what you're talking about?"_

"_Don't you lie to me, boy. I know you took it."_

"_Go to hell," Marty shoots back, knowing that he'll pay for his words. He's not wrong; his father hits him again. He tumbles backwards, falling against his bed. Blood spills down his face, and for a moment, he's sure that his jaw is broken._

"_Gordon, stop!" his mother screams, reaching out and grabbing his father's arm before he can strike again._

"_I told you to stay out of this." He pushes her back, but she refuses to let go._

"_No," she says, before stepping in front of Marty. "No more. You're not going to touch him again, do you understand me?"_

_He's about to laugh at her, maybe remind her of just how weak she is, but just as he opens his mouth to do so, their eyes lock and he sees something he's never seen before in her bright blue eyes – determination. Cold and steely._

"_Get out of my way," he tells her._

"_No. That's not going to happen."_

"_Okay, then, Jillian, you tell me what is going to happen here, huh? Since you're so smart and you've got it all figured out."_

"_I do have it figured out, Gordon. Finally. So here's what's going to happen: you're going to turn and walk out of this room. Go get yourself a beer if you want. And then you're going to listen as I pack a bag for Marty and I. And then I want you to really focus so that you can hear the sound of the door close because that's going to be the last time you hear anything from us."_

"_I don't think so."_

_It all happens so quickly after that. Gordon reaches out, grabs his wife by the hair and throws her against the far wall of the bedroom. A moment later, he's atop her, punching her as hard as he can and screaming incoherently at her._

_Marty remembers yelling for his father to stop and then grabbing at him. He remembers being pushed back and away._

_And then he remembers thinking about the bag that Ray had given him just a few days earlier, after Ray had seen dark bruises on Marty's body during a morning surf. "Just in case you get to a point where you can't take it anymore, Marty."_

_Apparently, this is that point._

_His father is completely oblivious to him, never sees him yank the gun out of the bag. Maybe he hears the click of the hammer, but it isn't until Marty says, "Stop or I will shoot you," that Gordon Brandel knows that he's completely lost control._

_A moment later, when he lunges for his son, and feels hot lead enter his body, he knows that he's lost everything he's ever loved in this world._

_The hell of it is; he's too far gone to care._

_It takes several minutes for his heart to stop pounding in his chest hard enough to make him feel like it's about to explode, but once it does, Marty gets up, calm as can be, and makes his way over to his mother. He wraps his arms around her and tells her that it's all okay now. Everything is okay._

_When the police arrive ten minutes later – summoned by Chelsea from next door (Ray's mother) who had heard both the fight and the gunshot (but not bothered calling it in until she'd heart the crack of the pistol) – he's still holding his mother._

_And he's still saying – over and over again – that it's all going to be okay now. He keeps saying that until the sedative that the doctor at the hospital gives him finally kicks in. When he wakes up, it's the first thing his mother says to him._

"_Everything is going to be okay now, Marty."_

_Ten days later, she files for divorce and changes both of their last names back to her maiden name – Deeks._

_He never sees his father again._

* * *

"He died a few years ago," Deeks says. "I just remembered that. Hetty found it out for me. Wow."

"Are you…are you okay with that?"

"I don't know." He turns to face her. "You are an asphalt kind of girl."

She cocks her head to the side, clearly not understanding. "Yeah."

"You like Twinkies and Chinese and dark ales and bubble baths."

"Yeah."

"You're insane and reckless and the single most badass person that I've ever met in my life."

"Deeks…"

"You're also kind and generous and loyal and there's not a person who has met you who wouldn't lie down their lives for you."

"Deeks, I don't understand where you're going with this," she says, feeling more than a little uncomfortable and more than a lot unnerved. She glances over her shoulder, back towards where she knows Sam and Callen are. She wonders what they're thinking about everything they've heard.

"And I'm Marty Deeks," he continues, causing her look back at him. She sees his eyes feel with tears and though it's close to the moment that they've all been waiting and hoping for, she suddenly finds that she's afraid of the breakthrough that he's about to have. She has a terrible feeling that it's going to be more painful than anyone imagined.

"Yes, you are," she answers, her voice quiet. She reaches for him, but he easily evades her. Instead, he stands up, and starts pacing back and forth. She stands as well, her body tensing just in case he tries to suddenly make a break for it.

She knows he won't, though. The part of him that was clinging to Jimmy Reese has finally surrendered. He's no longer running away. She wonders why she's suddenly so fearful of the fact that he's about to confront and accept his real self.

"Yeah, I'm Marty Deeks, born Martin Brandel. I'm a kid who stole ten bucks from my father's wallet so that I could take my best friend and I out for lunch on the Promenade. I'm the kid who watched his mother get the shit beat out of her."

"You saved her…"

Deeks ignores her. "I'm the guy who quit law school because I couldn't hack it."

She shakes her head. "You quit to become a cop. To help people."

"And now I'm the guy most people can't stand and who is only worth a damn when he's being someone else. So tell me, why would I want to return to Marty Deeks? Tell me, what value is there in him?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asks. She takes a step forward and put a hand on both of his arms. "You're the best man that I've ever met."

"That's what you're suppose to say right now. Doesn't make it true."

"Really? When have I ever just said anything?"

"Lying is part of the job."

"Look at me, Deeks, do I look like I'm lying to you? Have I ever been able to lie to you? Look at me!" She forces him to meet her eyes. "You are my partner and you are my best friend. I trust you and I need you. And if you remember anything at all about me, you know what it means for me to say that to anyone."

She sees the impact of her words in his stormy blue eyes. Slowly, the energy seeping completely out of him, he drops back down to the sand. He puts his head into his hands. "I know," she hears him whisper, though she's not terribly sure whether he's talking to her or himself.

She seats herself beside him, then reaches out and puts her arms around him. He doesn't protest, just lies his head against her shoulder, his body shaking beneath her hands. It's such a familiar moment.

Only last time, he was the one holding her.

Last time, he was the one doing whatever he could to save her.

* * *

_He's the one who breaks the kiss. "Kensi," he breathes, his lips just inches away from her. He can feel her breath whisper against his skin. _

"_Please," she says, her dark eyes wild and frantic. He tries to read her, tries to figure out what she's thinking, but all he sees is fear and hurt and pain. "I feel him on me. I can feel his hands. I can feel him. I…please…"_

_That's the moment when he understands what she's asking for. "Kensi," he stammers. "I can't…we can't…"_

_She reacts as if he'd slapped her. She steps back and away from him, her facial muscles tensing up and her eyes growing hard. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't…I don't know what came over me. I…that was stupid."_

_She lifts her arms and runs her hands through her hair, causing the tank she's wearing to ride up slight. He sees dark bruises on her abdomen, marks forced into her skin by Kassel's fingers. He feels his stomach seize._

"_Kensi, no, it wasn't…and God, don't you know…"_

"_No! I don't know," she suddenly yells, and then she back in front of him, a hand on each of his shoulder. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be feeling right now. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't know how to deal with this. Dammit, Deeks, I don't know…"_

_He stops her by leaning down and pressing his lips against her. And then he pulls her to him and deepens the kiss, his hands winding into her hair. When he finally, reluctantly steps back, he looks into her dark eyes, meeting them with his almost obscenely calm blue ones. He tries to express to her just how much she means to him, just how much he'd do for her._

_Anything, he tries to tell her. Anything at all. And what she's asking right now? Well it's something he's been wanting for awhile anyway. So if she's sure…_

_She reaches for him, then again, in a barely audible voice says simply, "Please."_

_There are no more questions and no further words after that. He removes her bathrobe and lays it on the cold floor. They undress each other silently, each taking a moment to drink in the physical beauty of their lovers' body. Then, gently, he lowers her to the ground, lays her on the bathrobe and as he presses his mouth against her neck, he intertwines his fingers with hers. _

_It's slow and sweet, and he takes great pains to make sure that he touches every mark – every bite and every bruise – that Kassel left behind. _

_She's pretty sure that she cries at least a little bit. In fact, she's sure of it because every time a tear streaks its way down her cheek, he kisses it away. It's utterly romantic, and it makes her laugh, which after a brief stunned moment, makes him laugh as well. As is their way, serious quickly turns to humorous. Somehow, almost inexplicably, they make even this horrible moment their own. _

_It's almost three in the morning when he finally helps her up from the floor, and half-walk/half-carries her back into the bedroom. He lays her in the bed and then slides down next to her, his arms wrapping around her naked torso._

"_You are amazing," he whispers, his stubble tickling against the soft flesh of her left earlobe. She feels his teeth nip at it a moment later._

_She considers throwing back a quip, making a joke, but the realization of what has just occurred between them hits her hard. "Thank you," she says simply. She hopes he knows that she's thanking him for so more than just the physical part of what they had just shared._

_A moment later, he feels her turn in his arms, then curl against his chest. He reacts by pulling her even closer and holding her as tight as he can. He presses his lips to her hair, inhaling shampoo and soap and sweat._

_It occurs to her that in her entire life, there's only been one man that Kensi Blye has allowed to hold her this close, even after lovemaking. She'd lost that man. _

_She can't lose this one. She can't. She simply can't._

_Need and urgency again flooding through her, she presses her hands against his naked chest and then leans up and kisses him again._

_This time, he doesn't protest even a little bit._

_This time, she doesn't cry. Not even a little bit._

* * *

It finally happens. It's a bit like coming apart at the seams and a whole lot like feeling everything you are and everything you thought you were get torn apart just so that it can be stitched back together. It's horrifying and painful.

In the end, though, all that matters is that Marty Deeks sheds the rest of the Jimmy Reese persona. Finally, Marty Deeks finally breaks through.

It's the moment they've all been waiting for and she's right; it's far worse than anyone could have ever imagined. He's not crying; he's sobbing, utterly hysterical and completely broken. All she can do is hold him.

It's not nearly enough, but it's all she can do.

She hears Callen in her ear asking if Deeks is okay. When she doesn't reply, he tells her that they're on their way. That's when she says simply, "Wait."

"All right," Callen tells her. "Standing by." He sounds like he doesn't like it, but right now, no one is going to doubt that she knows what is best for Deeks.

She turns her attention back to Deeks. "I'm here," she tells him, over and over again. "I'm right here."

She thinks about the words that both he and his mother had said to each other after the shooting of his father. She doesn't dare repeat them now because she doesn't know if everything will be okay. She'd like to think it will, but she can't stand the idea of telling him even a small lie. Even if she doesn't know if it is a lie.

After what seems like an eternity, he finally stops sobbing (though he still sounds to her as if he's desperately gasping for air). When she looks down, she sees that he's still conscious, but his eyes are glazed over with exhaustion.

Slowly, she reaches up and touches her earpiece, her fingers shaking as emotion fueled adrenaline surges through her, "Guys, I'm going to need some help here," she whispers.

"We're on our way, Kensi," Sam tells her, his voice unnaturally soft. She knows that they heard every word that was said between she and Deeks. They now know exactly what happened between them in the bathroom – they know of the lines that have been crossed. Oddly, she just doesn't care anymore.

Gently, she lowers her head to her partners' chest, her arms circling around his mid-section. She presses her ear against his heart, listening to the thumping noise it makes as it beats. She closes her eyes. "I'm here," she says again.

It's far from over, she knows. There's so much healing to be done. For both of them. Part of that healing involves bringing Christopher Kassel to justice. He's still out there and he still needs to pay for what he has done to them.

That's for tomorrow.

Today, right now, she has Deeks back, and that's all that matters.

**TBC...**


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: First, many apologies for the delay. I've really tried to keep to the every two weeks time line, but every now and again, the real world interferes. I'm back on schedule, though, and the next chapter should be up two weeks from now.**

**Second, again, thanks for all of the kind words. They mean the world to me, and definitely spur me along.**

* * *

"Easy guys. Go easy," she says, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time. She watches as her two teammates pretty much carry the weakened and exhausted form of Marty Deeks back up to the safe house. He's conscious, but leaning heavily against both of them, not even bothering to protest their assistance as he normally would if he had even a bit more strength.

It's been one hell of a day.

One hell of a week.

And a rather hellacious last seven months.

For everyone.

"Welcome back, Mr. Deeks," Hetty says kindly as the guys help him through the front door. They drop him down onto the couch, which he sinks down against.

"Thanks," he replies, feeling the weight of his eyelids. He's tired, so damned tired. Everything feels so strange and out of sorts right now. "I think," he adds a moment later, his voice sounding drowsy.

"You should sleep," Kensi tells him, coming to his side, She hesitates for just a moment, and then realizing that she just doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about her relationship with Deeks, she reaches out and touches his cheek. His skin is warm but damp, sweat still beading against his flesh. She allows her fingers to ghost across his rough stubble, enjoying the familiarity of his facial features.

"Haven't I been?" he asks, his eyelids sinking almost all of the way down now. He feels a blanket being placed over his legs.

"No," she says. "You've just...been away."

"That's what we're calling it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." His eyelids droop down again before suddenly opening back up. He looks at her. "You won't leave, right?"

"No," she says simply, her hand still on his cheek. "I won't."

* * *

_Most people believe__ that it's the actual sex part that's the most intensely intimate part of lovemaking. They're right in a way, he supposes, but they're also wrong as far as he's concerned. It's not just about the physical act for him; it's also about the serenity of the aftermath._

_It's quite early in the morning, and they're both still lying in the bed, naked and exhausted. She's wrapped tight in his arms, sleeping. Not quite soundly, but not exactly restlessly either._

_In a million years, he never could have imagined this moment actually happening. Okay, that's something of a lie. He's certainly imagined it a time or two, he just never actually though it would ever come to pass._

_His joy and elation are tempered hideously by the extreme circumstances that it took for this night to happen._

_And though he wasn't actually around when what had happened had happened, he can somehow still see it clear as day in his mind.  
_

_She'd been intentionally vague about the exact details of what had occurred, but he'd pretty much gotten the gist of it all. Kassel had come to the apartment with Sanchez, and then forced her to have sex with him in order save Jimmy's life._

_His life._

_The crushing implications of what she had done for him hit him like a ton of bricks. For a moment, he can't breathe. For a moment, all he wants to do is scream and curse and hit things._

_But then he feels the rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps against his own. He hears her make a small noise - something caught between a grunt and a whimper - and then she digs her way deeper against him._

_He puts a hand into her hair and moves it away from her face. He touches her cheek, enjoying the softness of well-moisturized skin. She might be tough as nails and generally more comfortable in jeans and hoodie than a sundress, but she nevertheless takes excellent case of herself. _

_Yeah, as far as he's concerned, she's stunning in every way._

_Well stunning except for the bruises._

_They run the length of her, some in places that make him want to vomit. The pressure that Kassel had had to exert in order to leave the marks must have been severe because many of the bruises are deep and dark._

_Signs of possession and ownership._

_Only, Deeks thinks with a smile, no one owns Kensi Blye. No one ever will._

_She stirs, turning slightly. He loosens his arms, and allows her to settle against him, her back to his chest. Her hair tickles his nose. He presses a light kiss to her neck, not enough to wake her._

_He wishes he could sleep as she is now, but he can't. He knows that the only reason she is at all is because of sheer exhaustion. He still has enough energy left to allow her mind to roam. _

_He thinks about what she'd said to him in the bathroom, thinks about her insisting that it had been her choice, and that she'd allowed it to happen. She's deluding herself, of course. There had been no actual choice, and the act hadn't been in any way consensual no matter what she tries to tell herself.  
_

_No, it had absolutely been rape._

_It's almost like a spray of cold water hits him as the word echos in his mind. He feels his stomach lurch violently. Tears sting his eyes. And then fury surges through him as he remembers who had allowed this to happen.  
_

_That little son of a bitch Sanchez._

_Sanchez should have warned him what Kassel had had in mind for Kensi. Obviously, he'd "forgotten" to do so. Which means that Sanchez is just as culpable as Kassel is. _

_As far as Deeks is concerned, the deal with the government is off. There's no way that Sanchez is walking when this is all over.  
_

_His eyes slide over to the LED clock. It's too early to do anything about Sanchez now, but in a few hours…_

_He sits up, separating from Kensi as he does so. It's jarring for him, but apparently, also for her because her eyes flicker open. He sees his real name on her lips. "Hey," he says, interrupting her._

"_Where are you going?"_

"_Bathroom," he tells her. "I'll be right back." He steps into the bathroom, finds his jeans, pulls out his phone and sends Sanchez a text. "I need to see you in the morning. Beach. 630AM. Don't be late." He puts the cell away, flushes the toilet, washes his hands, and steps back into the bedroom._

"_You okay?" she asks, sitting up in the bed (and rather adorably holding a sheet over her chest) her bloodshot and exhausted eyes wide with worry. She reaches out a hand towards him.  
_

"_No," he admits before taking her hand and letting her pull him back to the bed. He crawls back behind her and slides his arms around her again. A voice in his head tells him that he should probably stop this. What had happened in the bathroom – and earlier that night in the bed – had been due to an explosion of tortured emotion. Now, what's the excuse? Now, how can he justify holding her like this?_

_He doesn't care to even try to justify it to be honest. He just doesn't want to be anywhere but here._

"_But it will be," he assures her. He weaves his hand into hers, then presses his face against her shoulder. He hears her chuckle, and then she's sleeping again._

* * *

She refuses to break her promise to him. When the others suggest talking in the kitchen, she insists on staying in the same room as him. Where he can see her if he wakes up. It's as much for her sanity as for hers.

Reluctantly, the others agree to hold their conversation against the far wall of the Living Room, about ten feet away from where Deeks is slumbering restlessly on the couch. He's already tossed off the blanket. Three times. She keeps putting it back over him. No one even considers telling her not to bother.

"So what's our next step?" Sam asks, casting a worried look over towards Deeks. The young blonde cop looks as though he's caught in the middle of a dream he'd rather not be having, but no one dares to wake him for fear of interrupting what little sleep he might actually be getting.

"We need to find places for Kensi and Deeks to live. We let his lease run out when he was listed as missing, and Kensi can't go back to her house now that Kassel knows about it," Callen states. He looks at Kensi. "By now, he certainly knows that Deeks is lost to him. Chances are he's casting a pretty wide net to find both of you."

"Maybe we can use that net to lead us back to Kassel," Nate suggests.

"It's possible," Sam agrees. "I'll put some feelers out to some of our sources, see what they're hearing."

"In the meanwhile, I will take care of the housing situation," Hetty says. Then, with a smile towards Kensi, who clearly seems displeased by the idea of having her next home chosen for her, she adds, "I have a good idea of your likes and dislikes, Ms. Blye, have no fear."

"What about Deeks? Is it safe for him to be alone? We know that Kassel is going to come after both of us, but I can defend myself. Like he is right now, he can't," Kensi says, lowering her voice.

"She has a point," Sam nods. "It might be best if he stays with –"

"No. I'm not staying with anyone," Deeks says from behind the group. As a whole, they turn to face him. He's sitting up, though still leaning heavily against the back of the couch, clearly still exhausted. "I'm me again, and part of being me again means that I can take care of myself. Like I always have."

None of them miss the uncharacteristic edge to his tone.

"We're not saying anything different," Callen assures him. "But…"

"But what?" Deeks challenges. "But I've gone through hell, and you're not sure I could stop an old lady – no offense, Hetty - from taking me out much less a sociopathic mob boss and his many half-witted goons? That it, Callen?"

"Deeks," Kensi says, taking a step towards him. "No one is saying –"

"Do me a favor, huh? Don't insult me by humoring me. Especially you, okay?"

His tone is so serious – so heartbreakingly serious – that it's actually a little bit difficult for the others to really believe that this is truly Marty Deeks standing in front of them.

"Okay," she says softly.

"Thank you." Then, to Hetty, he states, "I don't know about the housing situation, but I do know what comes next for me."

She shakes her head. "You're not ready, Mr. Deeks."

"Ready for what?" Sam asks, though he has a pretty good idea he knows exactly what Deeks is talking about. He's pretty sure that if he – or any of the others - were in Deeks' place right now, they'd want the same damn thing.

Justice.

Revenge.

Peace.

"Maybe I'm not," he admits. "But you guys will be there to cover my back, right?" He's looking directly at Kensi when he says this.

"Help _our _backs," she tells him. "I owe him for a few things, too."

"I know you do. So let's do this, huh, partner? Let's finish what we started." His eyes are locked with hers. It's an obscenely intense moment, and one that feels a bit personal as well.

"Okay," she says quietly.

"Wait, no. Look, as a psychologist, "Nate inserts. "I have to strongly advise against this. Neither one of you is in any condition to be going after Kassel. Especially you, Deeks. You need rest and time to recover and –"

"You're absolutely right, Nate," Deeks agrees, his tired blue eyes intense and turbulent. "I need a lot of those things. And midnight strolls down the beach and picnics in a field of sunflowers, but right now, that's not going to happen. Right now, I need this. We need this." He turns his attention to Hetty. "Please," he pleads. "Let us – let Kensi and I – let us finish this. Please."

"I suspect, Mr. Deeks," she tells him, "That you and Ms. Blye will be doing whatever you need to do regardless of what I or anyone else tells you." She looks pointedly at Nate when she says this.

"You're right," Deeks confesses. "But I think we'd both feel a lot…safer…if we had all of you behind us."

"We would," Kensi confirms and the others all know how impossibly hard it is for this woman to ever ask for help from anyone. Hetty suspects, though, that it's at least somewhat easier being that in Kensi's mind, she probably sees it as requesting assistance on behalf of Deeks and not herself. Semantics, of course, but useful ones at least.

"We're a team," Sam assures them.

Callen nods. "Which means we'll be there with you. Every step of the way." He meets Kensi's eyes, and then adds softly, "Like always."

* * *

_She's standing alone in the dressing room, still inside the curtain, staring at her reflection in the body length mirror. She's in jean and a ribbed tank. She looks like a typical Los Angeles girl. Pretty and carefree._

_Nothing to worry about._

_Like most things about Kensi Blye, the appearance is something of a trick of smoke and mirrors. Something of well-told lie._

_Such is the life of an undercover agent. Such is her life._

_She's gone undercover more than three dozen times. She's played a stripper, a madam, a waitress and a biker chick among many odd and assorted roles. She's been submissive and she's been a ball-buster. _

_Therefore this job, she tells herself, is nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary._

_Unfortunately, this, too, is a lie and she's pretty sure that Callen and Sam can see right through this one. _

_Today is something new for her completely. _

_Today, she has to pretend to get shot three times._

_The job is simple enough. Walk into a bank, charm the teller who just so happens to be their prime suspect, be there when the gunmen come in, fight a little bit with Matt Bernhart, and then pretend to take three bullets to the mid-section._

_Piece of cake._

_She's gone over the plan at least half a dozen times with Sam and Callen. She's worked out the basics of the fight with Bernhart. She knows exactly what has to be done, and exactly how to do it._

_And yet, to herself – and only herself – she has to admit that she's scared._

_So many things can go wrong even in a well-planned op, and this one is far from that. This one is more thrown together. It's got good logic behind him, but still, there are just so many opportunities for everything to go upside down in a hurry._

_What if Curtis is packing, and if he is, what if he pulls his gun and shoots her before Bernhart can? It's not like Bernhart will be able to do anything to help her - if he does, the entire op will be blown. And she, well she'll be going in sans a vest. In fact, the only thing she'll have on her is a gun that'll be loaded with blanks (the plan is for Bernhart to shoot her with own weapon - a scenario which she's actually had nightmares about) and a coat full of packets of fake blood. _

_Which essentially means that if things take a turn for the worst and she finds herself taking a real bullet to the chest (or anywhere else), it'll be real blood – her real blood – that she'll be spilling._

_A real shooting isn't the only thing that can go wrong, though. What if the fake one is botched? What if the blood packets don't explode right and Curtis and his partner realize that they're being set up? What if –_

"_Pretty sure you can do this all day," Callen says as he enters the dressing room. He's holding the fake blood packets in his hand. _

"_Do what?" she asks._

"_Go through everything that can go wrong in your mind."_

"_I'm not," she lies._

"_Of course you are," he chuckles. "And we all do it. Me, Sam, even Hetty. And it's okay to do it. It's part of the job, Kens. We have to think through every possibility, even the really bad ones. "_

"_Callen, I know," she tells him. "I've done dangerous ops like this before."_

"_I know you have, but there's a big difference between pretending to be a stripper," he smirks when he says this, causing her to roll her eyes, "And pretending to take three bullets to the chest. You have to sell the shock and pain of the moment. You have to sell the…disbelief."_

"_Was that how it was for you?"_

"_You know, I still don't remember much of it, but yeah, that's about right."_

"_Funny," Sam says as he enters the room. "I remember every bit of it." A look passes between the two men, and not for the first time, Kensi feels a bit like a third wheel, like maybe she's intruding on something deep and personal._

_She's had her share of partners. Inclusive of Dom (who she still believes is out there, and still believes can be saved) she's cared about each and every one of them in a professional kind of way. She's covered their backs, and always been reliable and trustworthy. She's even been remotely friends with a few of them._

_Still, she's never had a relationship like this with any of them. She wonders what it's like for them. It seems so powerful. Maybe even deeper than most marriages, and more intense than most blood ties. She envies it even as she's certain that she'll never have anything like it._

_Callen turns his attention back to Kensi. "You've been shot before, right?"_

_She nods slowly, but says nothing more. With Callen, she doesn't need to. He understands secrets and the need to keep them close more than most people do._

"_Do you remember it?" he asks._

"_Only somewhat," she hedges, and Callen is certain that she's lying, but chooses not to push her on it. "I mostly remember waking up…after everything was over. I remember what it felt like while I was healing."_

"_I guess we have that in common," he muses._

_Sam shakes his head. It's clear that he's not terribly thrilled with this conversation. He steps towards Kensi. "Sit," he says. He reaches out and takes the blood packets from Callen. She drops down onto the bench. He seats himself across from her. "The packets will be attached to the inside of your coat. You need to keep it closed until you get shot. Once you do, you can push it aside, and show off the blood on your shirt." He points to the white tank she's wearing._

"_Got it," she replies, watching him affix the packets to the inside her dark blue coat. He's clearly done this before, knows exactly how to do it._

"_After your fight with Bernhart, he's going to aim his gun at you. That's the moment, Kensi. That's the moment when you have to sell what's about to happen. Neither you nor Callen saw it coming last time, right?"_

_She nods in the affirmative, but again refuses to say more than that. _

"_This time you do. I've seen it coming," he tells her. "You think you're about to die, and it's not your life that you've already lives that rushes in front of your eyes, it's everything you'll never get to do, everything you'll never get to say. In that moment, I wasn't scared, I was sad. Horribly sad, do you understand?"_

"_I think so."_

"_Good."_

_He says nothing more for several minutes. In fact, the only sound there is that of him attaching the packets to the insider of her coat. _

_Finally, it's Callen with a slightly thick voice who says, "We'll be there the whole time, Kens. Me, Sam, Renko. All of us. You won't be alone. Not for a minute."_

"_I know," she tells him._

"_You're set," Sam tells her._

"_Okay. Then uh, let me finish getting ready and I'll be out in a minute."_

_The men nod and stand up. They both cast another look back at her before they leave. She waits until they're gone before standing up. She makes her way over to the mirror and looks at her reflection. _

"_Sadness," she says to herself. "I'm pretty sure I can do that."_

_She leaves the locker room a moment later, stops down by the Ops, reaches into the box of her personal belongings, and pulls out her jelly bracelets. _

"_Shut up," she mumbles to Eric, who is watching her with a small smile._

_To his credit, the only thing the blonde tech says is, "Good luck, Kensi. And don't worry, I'll be in your ear every minute of the op." _

_True to his word, he is._

_The job goes down exactly as planned. She sells the shooting, even manages to dig deep and say something that she hasn't said in years, "Please, don't."_

_It works. It all works._

_And true to their words as well, Sam and Callen are with her the whole time._

* * *

It's two hours later, and he's back on the beach, sitting in the sand, watching the birds fly by, his eyes on the setting sun.

"Hey," she says, sitting down next to him. She resists the urge to reach out and touch him. After everything he's been through, she has no idea what he can and cannot tolerate. He's always been a man who could take close contact before, but it's not hard to imagine that maybe that's all changed now.

"Hey," he repeats. "I think I want to surf," he says after a moment.

"Yeah? That's good."

"I'm not sure it is."

"I'm not following."

"I'm not…I'm not sure if I want to surf because I want to surf or because Marty Deeks wants to surf."

"You're one and the same," she says with a frown, wondering if maybe they'd been wrong about the Jimmy Reese persona having been wiped out.

"Maybe." He turns to face her, reacting when he sees the surprise and uncertainty on her face. "Let me guess; don't worry, Deeks, we've got you home now, and everything is going to be just fine now that you're safe and sound."

"Deeks…"

"I'm guessing by how thin and tired and worn out you look that the last several months haven't been all that kind to you either, huh, partner?"

She flinches back from the hardness of his words. It's not that Marty Deeks hasn't hit her with a few truths from time to time, it's just that his usual delivery system typically utilizes more humor than bluntness.

This feels a bit like being bludgeoned with a baseball bat.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that you shouldn't always tell a woman the truth?" she finally manages.

"Yes," he nods. "But I figure after all we've been through, Kensi, why bother with the lies?" He's staring right at her now, his blue eyes fully of fury and pain.

"Deeks, I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry. If I'd know…if…"

"You think I blame you?"

"Don't you?"

"Why? Because you didn't go through six months of torture?"

"Deeks…"

"Kensi, I might be a wreck right now. I might be doing everything I can to hold it together just long enough for us to find a way to bring Kassel down, but I'm not crazed out of my mind. I'm not pissed that you made it out. I'm happy. You mean…well there aren't words for what you mean to me. The idea of any of what I went through happening to you, it makes me sick. What actually did happen to you makes me sick."

"Quite the pair we make," she says softly, turning her head away from him so that he doesn't see the tears on her cheeks.

"Always have to be the tough one don't you?" he asks.

"I'm not always tough," she answers.

"I know that. But you never let me see it. You never let anyone see it."

"Deeks," she says, but her tone is almost a plea, a frantic request for him to stop.

"You don't really like this me do you?"

"I like any you," she tells him, turning to face him. "Well except for the Jimmy version of you. He was kind of a dick."

Deeks chuckles. "Yeah, he kind of was." Then, his face growing serious, he says, "I wonder if it's true."

"What?"

"They always say that if you're an addict, you're an addict for life. So does this mean that I'm a heroin addict?" Anger flows through him in a way that seems almost dangerous and frightening. It occurs to her that she's seeing Marty Deeks in a completely raw and unfiltered kind of way. There's no humor here, no attempts at softening the pain or making it less uncomfortable for her.

This is a test, she thinks to herself. Not one that he's conducting exactly, but one that's happening just the same. This is a test of their friendship, their partnership.

Before everything had happened, she'd typically been the moody and intense one of the two of them. He'd had his moments for sure, but generally, he'd joked them away. He'd never let his pain step into the light, he'd never really allowed anyone to see behind his carefully constructed mask.

That's all changed now.

Thanks to what Kassel did to them and to the process of deprogramming him, she knows exactly what the skeletons in his closet look like. She knows how bloody and truly awful they are. She knows how deep his pain really is.

And so now, he's not even bothering to try to hide the scars from her. Worse than that, though, almost all of the wounds have broken open and are bleeding anew.

She's not sure if she wants to hug him or run from him.

She settles for staying seated beside him, her fingers digging into the cool sand beneath her.

"I've never seen you so much as take an aspirin," she tells him, and she intends that to mean that he needn't worry about the supposed addiction.

"Different story when I was in college, but I was just a stupid kid then. Once I became me, the only thing I really knew for sure was that I never wanted to be him," Deeks replies bitterly. "I wanted to do everything I could to be anyone but him. No addictions, no dependencies. I counted on me and just me." He looks over at her. "And then you came along."

She has no idea how to respond to that so she settles for staring out at the sky as the sun continues to set. Streaks of purple and orange are beginning to mix and weave their way across the Los Angeles horizon. It's a stunning visual.

"I was so good at taking care of myself, so good at relying on only me. The guys at the department all hated me, but I could deal with that. I could. Then Hetty does her recruiting thing and suddenly there you are. Suddenly after promising myself that I would never get so invested with a partner that I couldn't imagine not having them around, I realize I've got a big problem."

"I don't know what to say here."

"Then don't say anything. Just listen, okay?"

"Okay."

"Jess Traynor was an amazing woman, and I think I cared a lot about her, but when she died, I had a couple beers in her name, I went to see her parents, and I laid some flowers on her grave. It hurt me, but it didn't break me. When I thought you were dead, when they told me that Kassel had murdered you, I gave up. I didn't care anymore. I let them have me."

"Don't say that," she pleads. "Please."

"Why? Because it scares you."

"Yes," she admits. "Because if that's the truth, then I don't know how we go back to what we were after all we've been through and I'm sorry, Deeks, but right now, that's all I want. I want it to be like it was."

"You want me like I was."

"Yes, but it's not just you. I want me like I was, too. I want the me that felt confident all the time back. I want the me that knew I could hit a mark from across a football field. Now I'm lucky if I can out-shoot Eric."

"You're right," he says with the smallest hint of a familiar old smile. "We really do make a hell of a pair."

She chuckles. "Who would have thought?"

"Pretty much no one."

* * *

"_Fifty bucks says Deeks doesn't last a month before he's asking to return to the LAPD," Sam says as he as Callen make their way up the steps._

"_Fifty, huh? You're awfully confident," Callen replies._

"_He and Kensi, they're like oil and water."_

"_You sure you're not like oil and water with him, Sam?"_

"_I'm sure. And this isn't about me. It's about them."_

"_Could be interesting," Callen shrugs. "You and I worked."_

"_I'm charming."_

_Callen snorts._

"_I am."_

"_Fine, you're charming. What does that have to do with us working?"_

"_I make up for your utter lack of charm. And everything else."_

"_Nice. Well, maybe Kensi can make up for –"_

"_My utter lack of charm?" Deeks says as he comes up behind the two. "Not needed. I'm definitely the charmer of the two of us. And the looker for that matter. And you know, I'm also –"_

"_Delusional," Kensi grumbles as she passes them all on the stairs. "And Sam, I'm in for a hundred that Deeks doesn't last two weeks. In fact, I bet he begs Hetty to send him back. On his knees."_

"_Oh ye of little faith, my dear sweet, Kensi," Deeks grins. "And besides, I'm not much for on my knees." _

"_Shut up, Deeks."_

"_Oh come on, don't be like that."_

"_One week," Callen says. "Hundred and fifty."_

"_You people really have no belief in me?" Deeks asks, pretending to be hurt. _

"_It's not you," Sam tells him, then shakes his head. "Well it is you a little bit."_

"_But mostly it's Kensi. She uh…well…I don't know, Deeks, you and her could make a really interesting partnership," Callen puts in._

"_Interesting good, I hope."_

"_More like interesting explosive is what I'm guessing," Sam says. "But I guess we'll find out." Then to Callen he adds, "When I win, I'll be nice and take you out to dinner."_

"_That's really sweet of you."_

"_I'm sweet like that."_

"_Uh huh."_

_They pass Deeks on the stairs, leaving him to stand there and stare up at Kensi, who is talking to Eric on the top level. She seems to feel his eyes on her, and glances over at him. Her eyebrow lifts and it's almost like a challenge._

_He grins, and makes his way up towards her, determined to prove everyone wrong. For no other reason than because that's what Marty Deeks does. It's what he's always done._

* * *

"What'd you end up doing with the money you won?" she asks, smiling slightly. She notices that she's built something of a sand castle over her feet. It feels good, nice and cool.

"You know I don't remember," he replies.

"You don't?"

He shrugs. "Coffee money."

She shakes her head, but is smiling affectionately at him. After a moment, her expression grows troubled and finally, her voice abnormally quiet, she asks, "After everything that's happened, do you still want to be my partner?"

"It's funny," he replies after a few seconds of thought. "That's about the only thing right now that I am certain of. Well besides the fact that I've never hated someone – even my father – as much as I hate Kassel."

"We will get him."

"Yes, we will. And I hope the others are there to stop us from doing something that both of us might regret."

"Regret," she repeats thoughtfully. "I kind of doubt we would. Regret it, I mean."

He smiles sadly. "I know. And I think that scares the hell out of me."

"Me, too," she agrees.

"So," he says. "Where do we start?"

"I would say you would start with Lieutenant Sanchez," Hetty says from behind them. They both turn to see her and Nate standing a few feet away. Hetty's wearing a typically stoic expression, but Nate is clearly concerned. Neither Deeks nor Kensi has any idea how long Hetty and Nate have been there, but chances are, they'd heard the entire conversation.

"Sanchez is still alive?" Deeks asks. "I figured after he'd disappeared that Kassel had him whacked for working with us."

"He made another go at killing me. While I was still in the hospital after Sam and Callen rescued me," Kensi tells him. "He's in a Federal prison now, in solitary confinement to keep him away from Kassel's men."

"Shame," Deeks says. "You should let Kassel have him. One less rodent for the government to take of."

"Our place is not to be judge, jury and executioner, Mr. Deeks," Hetty says gently. At her side, Nate shifts uncomfortably. It's quite clear that he'd like nothing more than to pull the plug on this entire idea of going after Kassel. It's also clear that he's been overruled by all over the others, including Hetty.

"Then you'd better make sure either Sam and Callen comes with us," Deeks replies, standing up and brushing sand off. "Because after what Sanchez did to us, to her, after how he set this whole thing in motion, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stop myself from strangling him."

Perhaps the brutal unfiltered honesty is too much for even Hetty now because uncertainty streaks across her face. She looks over at Nate, and starts to open her mouth, maybe considering finally following his advice.

"We'll be there with them," Callen assures her as he and Sam step out to join the group. "No one is getting strangled. Not today. Right, Deeks?"

"Right," Kensi answers for him. After a brief moment of hesitation, she reaches out and touches his forearm, lightly squeezing it. He looks down at her hand, then puts his own over hers. It's gesture that no one misses.

"Right," he echoes. "It'll be fine. We'll just talk. That's it. That's all we want."

"Good," Hetty nods. "Then Lieutenant Sanchez is currently housed at MCC in San Diego. I believe Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna that you know the way quite well by now, yes?"

"We do," Sam confirms. Then to Deeks he says, "We tried to convince Sanchez to tell us where you might be. He kept saying he'd told everything he knew."

"We never believed him," Callen adds.

* * *

"_Do you know where Kassel is?" Callen asks once he and Sam have seated themselves across from Sanchez. They're in one of the meeting rooms of the prison, the ones usually reserved for visits by lawyers._

"_You're wasting your time," Sanchez answers with a laugh. He's been in solitary for about a month, and the strain of it is clearly already catching up to him. He looks ill rested and edgy. "Your boy is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead."_

"_Maybe and maybe not. We're willing to take our chances," Callen replies with a shrug. _

"_But you need my help."_

"_Yes."_

"_Too bad. Look, you're deluding yourselves. He's dead, and nothing you can do to find him will change that. Now, if you insist on doing this again, at least bring Agent Blye with you. Then, at least, I could have had at least had something nice to look at. No offense, fellas, but neither of you is exactly what I'd call a cool glass of water after a long walk through the desert."_

"_Someone's been reading," Sam notes._

"_Got nothing better to do in my little cell. So, tell me, how is Agent Blye doing?"_

"_Agent Blye is none of your concern," Sam growls._

_Sanchez laughs again. "It's kind of amazing isn't it? I saw this bitch go head-to-head with Kassel. Man, she pissed him off so badly that he fucking snapped and tried to break her skull open. She's got balls of steel of her own, and yet all of you big boys are protecting her from a dude in chains. Pathetic."_

"_Do you know where Kassel is?" Callen asks again, his voice hard and cold. Neither he nor Sam have any intention of humoring this piece of human vermin's sick obsession with Kensi. _

"_No."_

"_You're lying," Sam announces._

"_Maybe. But if I am, maybe I want to know what you'll give me to tell you what you want? More to the point, what will Agent Blye give me? I saw what she gave Kassel to save Deeks' ass. Maybe I want the same. You know what? I do. You tell Agent Blye that if she wants to get her beloved partner back that –"_

"_We're done here," Callen announces, standing up._

"_I guess the good detective isn't that important after all," Sanchez cackles, sounding just a little bit crazy. _

_Neither man replies. They simply get up and leave the room._

_They never tell Kensi about Sanchez's so-called offer. _

* * *

"Just me and Kensi," Deeks says once the foursome is standing outside of the Meeting Room at the Federal prison in San Diego. It'd been a long quiet drive – and an uncomfortable one at that.

After all, what do you say to a guy who has just remember who he is and what's been done to him? How do you apologize for not getting to him earlier? How do you say you're sorry for the pain and horror that he's suffered.

You can't really. You just…can't.

"You sure?" Callen asks. "Just two hours ago you were telling Hetty to make sure that we came with you in case –"

"I know what I said and…I was in the moment. My head is still a bit confused, but I'm not a lunatic and I'm not going to do anything to him. And besides, we all know that if I even think for a second about getting stupid, Kensi will do what she always does; she'll pull me back, won't you, partner?"

"Yeah," she says, but she's frowning just a bit. It's fairly obvious that she's at least somewhat worried about his self-control.

"See?" Deeks says. "All good."

"We'll be listening to everything," Sam tells him.

"I figured as much." He takes a deep breath and then starts for the door to the Interview Room, Kensi just a step or so behind him.

They enter to find Lieutenant Paul Sanchez sitting at the table, his hands cuffed in front of him. He's lost weight, and clearly hasn't been sleeping well.

Join the club, Kensi thinks, glancing over at Deeks.

"Sanchez," Deeks says as he closes the door behind them.

"I'll be damned, Deeks, I figured you for dead," Sanchez chuckles. He lifts his cuffed hands and pretends to clap out a sarcastic kind of congratulations.

"Sorry to disappoint," Deeks replies quietly.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand, my friend. I'm not disappointed at all," Sanchez shrugs. "I figure if you're alive, that means the Boss had his fun with you. And the way you look, I can see he did."

"You don't look like things have been going so great for you either," Kensi fires back, moving herself so that she's standing side-by-side with Deeks.

"Well, I've been locked away in a little cell for the last six months. I get one hour in the yard and fifteen minutes in the showers so yeah, it hasn't exactly been a vacation at the beach, you know?"

"That sucks," Deeks says, his voice dull. "But I honestly don't give a shit if you spend every day protecting your ass. I don't."

"Oh! Your boy has changed," Sanchez chuckles, his eyes settling on Kensi. "And not for the better. How do you like that, Agent Blye?"

"Focus on me, Sanchez, not her."

"Still protecting her, huh? How'd that work out for you last time, Deeks? Seems like it bit you in the ass then. You really want to lose everything again just to protect that whore?"

Before Deeks can move more than an inch in Sanchez's direction, Kensi reaches out and grabs his hand. "Stop," she says. "He's baiting you. Don't let him."

"You're right. You're right. I'm good."

She loosens her hold on his hand, but doesn't let go.

"Aw, that was almost cute. I had forgotten how much she controls you, Deeks. Like a dog on a fucking leash. It's actually kind of pathetic."

"Enough, Paul. Cut the bullshit," Deeks says coldly. "There's only one thing I want from you and then I'll leave you to rot away in your cell. Where is Kassel?"

"Don't you think your boys here have asked me that already?" Sanchez answers, slouching back in the chair, a smirk on his face. This is the most interesting – and lengthy - conversation that he's had in six months, and he's not about to do anything to speed it along.

"I'm sure they all have," Deeks replies.

"No, no, not all, just Callen and his bodyguard. Your girl hasn't been by even once. And you know if she had…come to…see me, well then, this could have all been over months ago."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kensi demands.

Before Sanchez can answer, Deeks says, "It doesn't matter. I'm here. And we're not playing any more games."

"Games, huh? You think that's what this is?"

"I do. We both know that every time they've come to see you, you've yanked them around and lied to them. You've claimed they know all you know. But that's a lie isn't it, Paul? You know exactly where Kassel is."

"You really have changed, Deeks. No more Mr. Nice Guy."

"No, no more. And right now, all I want you to hear is this; before we leave this room today, you are going to tell me everything we want to know. You're going to tell us where Kassel is. Do you understand me?"

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

"Oh, no, no, Paul, I'm one of the good guys," Deeks replies dryly. There's something in his tone, something that seems to suggest that he's not completely sure that he is still one of the good guys.

"She won't let your cross any lines."

"Maybe, maybe not. You never know. And besides, who's to say I will cross any lines? Maybe I'll just practice a few of the things Kassel taught me on you. That'd be poetic justice, now wouldn't it be?"

Sanchez looks up at Kensi. She simply stares back at him. Her look is cold, almost chilling. It's enough to send a shiver along his spine.

"I can't," he finally says. "If I do, he'll kill me."

"You're not really living now are you, Paul? You're locked away in a little room and you can't ever leave that room or else someone might slit your throat with a plastic knife. Or maybe they'll do it with their hands. Beat you to death. Kassel does like to make it as painful as possible He digs that kind of thing. I'm sure you remember. I know I do."

"I think you're scaring your girl," Sanchez says, a slight tremble to his voice. "I don't think she likes this side of you."

"She'll be fine. We both will. After we take down Kassel."

"You never will. He'll see you coming and just when you think you've got him, he'll turn everything around. He always wins. Always. Maybe this time, he'll take her. Maybe this time, she'll be the one he breaks."

"No," Deeks says simply. "That's not what's going to happen. Now, where is he?"

"He'll get me in here. You know he will, Deeks."

"I know. I don't care. Frankly, I hope he does."

Sanchez looks over at Kensi. "You going to allow this?"

"Where is Kassel?" she asks in response, her gaze even and cool. If Deeks is scaring her – and he is – she's sure as hell not showing it to Sanchez.

He's surprised for just a moment, and then resignation comes over him. Whatever joy he'd had earlier at seeing Deeks and Kensi in front of him, both of them clearly still deeply scarred by what Kassel had done to them, is long gone now. Even wounded, it's plain to Paul Sanchez that they're the ones in control.

"My blood is on your hands."

"Pretty sure I can live with that," Deeks replies. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. I…I honestly don't know. But…but I know how you can find him."

"Keep talking."

"He has a lot of kids, but most of them, he has no interaction with. There's one, though, that he's close with. Kid is nineteen years old and already he's a little bastard. He's spitting image of daddy through and through."

"What's his name?" Kensi asks, lifting her hand to her ear as if to touch her earpiece. It's a wasted motion, though, because she's certain that the others are already paying full attention to the entire conversation.

"Justin Cavanaugh. Follow Justin, and he'll lead you right to wherever Kassel is. He probably goes to see his dad once or twice a week." Sanchez looks up at Deeks. "You probably even saw him a time or two and didn't even know it."

* * *

_He's coming down. _

_Again. _

_They seem to enjoy making him crash to earth completely before injecting him more of the heroin. They seem to delight in the agony of the despair and fear that seems to wash over him._

_He's lying on the floor of the room, twitching, trying to remember just the who the hell he is._

_Marty Deeks. Jimmy Reese._

_A hundred other names._

_He claws at the ground, his dirty nails scraping painfully against the floor. He tosses and he turns, and he tries to find even a second of peace._

_There's none to be found._

_All he hears is the sound of his own shattered heart slamming against his ribcage. And the sound of an adult man crying like a three-year-old child._

_Sometimes, if he's left with just Alejandro watching him, the fix is given to him fairly quickly. Alejandro is impatient and this isn't his game. He doesn't care to listen to the blonde cop crack and crumble and fall to pieces. _

_If it's Kassel watching over him, though, then he's allowed to suffer through the pangs of withdrawal for hours. It's only when exhaustion seems to finally overtake him that Kassel reaches out and forces the poison back into his system._

_And then the cycle starts anew._

"_Please," he always says. "Please just let me die." He's long since stopped caring about the humiliation of begging. He just wants it over. _

_The answer that comes back is always the same. "No, I'm not done with you yet."_

_Deeks can't help but wonder just how much further he has to fall._

_One night, he finds out just how far he has left to go._

_It's late in the evening, and he's coming down hard when a man that he's never seen before comes into the room. The man looks a lot like Kassel, but he's younger, maybe still in his teens. It occurs to Deeks that this kid might actually be Kassel's son. It's a horrifying thought, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it before he's feeling a razor blade get run across the palm of his hand. _

"_Please," Deeks says._

"_That's a good start," the kid says. "But I think you can do better. Now I want you to feel free to scream. Honestly, the louder the better." And then he presses the blade in deeper._

_Deeks screams._

_Hours later, when the heroin is mercifully surging through his veins, and the tears have finally stopped running down his cheeks, Deeks promises himself that he'll never wonder how far he can fall again._

_Because the answer is clearly that as far as Kassel is concerned, there's no floor. There's always more pain to be had._

_Always._

* * *

"Got him," Eric says, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He's happy to be able to stare at his screen, and not Deeks. Every time he looks at the blonde cop, he feels a wave of nausea crash through him. Deeks is too skinny, too sickly.

And too angry.

Eric's never been good at handling anger. He's usually the one who retreats from it, finds a way to hide until the storm passes.

Right now, Deeks is the storm. A focused and furious tornado about to go shred everything in its path. It's utterly terrifying.

"Where?" Kensi says, leaning over him. Her hand rests on the back of his chair, and then slides to his shoulder.

"Beverly Hills, where else?" Eric notes. He pulls up a map and shows a house on it. "The place was owned by his mother, but she died in a car crash about a year ago, which meant that he inherited somewhere north of fifteen million dollars."

"Suspected foul play?" Callen asks.

"Suspected, but never proven."

"So what's our angle?" Kensi asks. "Follow him until he goes to see Kassel?"

"Or see if any of our street contacts can come up with anything," Sam offers.

"No," Deeks says with a shake of his head. "No more waiting around for informants to talk. No more lurking in the shadows following these bastards around. We finish this. Today."

"All right. You got a plan?" Sam queries.

"Yeah, me."

"You?" Hetty questions, eyebrow up.

"Me. I go in as Jimmy, act like the lost puppy coming home."

"No, no way," Kensi snaps immediately.

"You're not understanding what I'm saying. I'm not asking for permission to do this," Deeks replies. "I'm going in with or without permission."

"Deeks..."

"Kensi, this is the right play. I know it is. Sanchez was right; I remember this little creep. He tortured me in there. He knows who I am and I know who he is. He'll think I'm Jimmy. I'll be all confused and unsure. And I'll get him to take me home to Kassel."

"I don't like this," Nate says quickly. "You've just gotten clear of the brainwashing. It's completely unadvisable for your to take on that persona again. It's…"

"I know who I am, Nate. I promise you, I'll never forget that again."

"What if he sees through you?" Hetty asks.

"Then I'll start breaking bones until he takes me see dear old dad," Deeks answers without a trace of humor. He's clearly dead serious.

"This is idiotic," Kensi says. "We are not sending you right back to Kassel. Absolutely not."

"It might be the best way," Callen suggests, though more to himself than the others. "Chances are Justin is on the outside of the operation, probably only knows Deeks as Jimmy the druggie. He might not even know Jimmy is missing."

"That's a lot of 'mights'," Sam notes.

"Too many," Kensi says. "Hetty, come on."

"Stop," Deeks cuts in. "Just stop. Kensi, I know you want to protect me. I know…and…that…it means something, okay? It means a lot, but I need this over. I need this bastard behind bars or in the ground or something. I can't…every time I close my eyes, I see him. I feel the pain, I feel everything. I'm afraid of everything. I can't…it has to end. Please."

His words are spoken rapidly and emotionally, and Kensi is struck with the visual of a spool of yarn rapidly coming unwound. She's not sure if she's glad that the others are there or if she wishes they would all go away so that she could take care of him by herself.

"This is a bad idea," she tells him.

"Wouldn't be my first bad idea," he says, his eyes meeting hers. She sees sadness in them - and maybe an apology as well. She assumes it's for going after Sanchez the morning after what Kassel had...what she'd let Kassel do to her.

"Deeks, are you sure you can do this?" Callen asks.

He doesn't reply immediately, instead looks at Kensi. He lowers his voice when he speaks to her, making it seem almost like this is an intimate conversation between just the two of them. "You'll be there, right?"

"You know I will be."

"Then I'm sure." He looks up at the others. "But if I'm going to sell this right, then I'm going to need Jimmy's clothes back."

**TBC...**


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait. I'm not great at writing in the summer- my muse tends to get apathetic heat stroke and I struggle. The good news is, we're very close to the end. One more chapter and an epilogue to go. Stick with me just a bit longer - one way or another, this tale will be concluded by the time S3 premieres. The chapter below is set up and more emotional table-setting for the final show-down, but I think it's necessary to understand where our heroes are right now. I look forward to your thoughts, and hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

* * *

He's in the dressing room of the Mission, and already back in the ratty dark clothes that he'd been wearing when he'd attacked her in her apartment. As she watches him adjust the jacket he's wearing, she's suddenly and admittedly rather absurdly struck by the desire to rip them off of him.

And not in any kind of weird kinky sexual way.

No, the simple truth of the matter is that Kensi Blye wants to forget that Jimmy Reese had ever existed. She certainly wants to pretend that her partner never actually believed that he was the character (either the fairly harmless version that Eric created or the bastardized thug one that Kassel had built) that had been created for their undercover operation seven months earlier.

That's clearly not going to be possible. At least for right now.

For right now, anyway, the plan that the team has concocted demands that they need Deeks to act like he still believes that he is Jimmy so that they can convince Kassel's son Justin Cavanaugh to take Deeks back to his father.

After that, if all goes well, well then they arrest Kassel and then go out for a couple rounds of whiskey in order to celebrate the downfall of the son of a bitch who has pretty shredded the lives of both she and her partner.

It's a simple plan.

It's a terrible plan.

No one is going to be able to talk Deeks out of it.

Still, she has to try. At least one more time.

It's late in the afternoon, and the minutes they have left before this idiotic plan needs to be put into action are slipping away faster than she cares to admit. In a perfect world (which is a joke in and of itself), she'd like to think that there's plenty of time to make him see reason, but God if she doesn't knows better.

This has to end. One way or another.

Kassel has to be stopped. Until he has been, neither one of them will be able to really heal. Sure, she knows from personal experience that the physical wounds will fade to ugly scars, but the lack of bleeding won't stop the nightmares.

And it won't bring back her once nearly impeccable aim.

And it most certainly won't change the fact that he is now and always will be a heroin addict.

To be honest, even catching Kassel probably won't change those things, but maybe knowing that he's behind bars (or better, six feet under) will allow them both to really get the help they need without the fear of wondering what's coming up behind them.

She knows that she's further along than Deeks, but there are still miles to go in her healing. And for him, there are marathons worth of recovery ahead of him.

The furious part of Kensi Blye – and dear Lord, that feels like the strongest part of her these days – wants to take Deeks by the hand and tell him to lock and load. She wants to tell him to get ready to get the bloody and frenzied revenge that they both so desperately need.

And deserve.

She won't do that, though.

At least not until she tries to talk him out of this ridiculous plan. One more time, she figures. It's a waste of time, but she has to give it just one more go.

She has her reasons for wanting to talk him out of this, and they are many and complicated. Sure, there are the professional ones. And the ethical ones. And the ones that basically come down to crossing lines and who is good and who is bad.

None of those really matter, though.

The reason she wants to talk him out of this terrible plan is simple if not selfish; she's terrified of losing him.

Again.

"Deeks," she says softly. She comes up beside him and makes sure that he can see her reflection as well as his own in the body length mirror. He seems entranced by the weakened image of himself, amazed by how thin and pale he is. It's almost like he doesn't recognize himself. She sees him trail a hand over the track marks on the inside of elbow, ugly dark gouges into his flesh. She repeats his name after a moment, this time slightly louder.

He turns his head slightly, and the faintest bit of a smile lifts the corner of his lips. "Hey, Partner," he just about whispers.

"There are other plans," she says, knowing that she doesn't need to preamble this conversation, knowing that they've simply been through too much together to have to pad their words with unnecessary explanations and commentaries.

"I know," he nods. He stares at his reflection in the mirror once more, and then, after a moment, frowns. "But I don't like him so much."

"I don't either," she agrees, instinctively knowing that they're talking about Jimmy Reese and not Chris Kassel. "But we need to stop and think about this. Please. So much can go wrong."

"I know," he says again. "But I think we have to do this anyway."

"Deeks…"

He turns to face her. "You know what I want to do right now?"

"Wha..what?" she stammers, not completely sure that she wants to hear the answer. After all, there's a lot of things that she would like to do right about now, and several of them are somewhat violence related. Some of them – the ones that involve paying Kassel back in kind - horrify even her.

"I'd like to make you laugh," he replies, his voice deadly serious. "But right now, I don't have the words to. Right now, I don't feel…I don't…I don't know how…"

"You're still, Deeks," she tells him. "And deep down, there's still a scrubby surfer telling lame jokes. He just needs to find his way back to the surface."

"I hope you're right."

"I usually am, aren't I?"

He offers only the thinnest of smiles to that.

Understanding in that moment exactly why they have to do this, she reaches out, and touches his forearm. "Fine," she says softly. "But we do this together. Which means that if you're going in, I'm right behind you. And this time, we both come out or neither of us do, okay?"

"I've heard that before," he says with the same thin smile.

"This time, I mean it."

"You didn't mean it last time?" he asks. It's clear that he's trying to tease her, but the words cut hard against her, and she can't stop herself from reacting.

"I'm sorry," she says simply, quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. When she looks up again, he sees moisture gathering there, pooling and threatening to leak down her entirely too pale cheeks. After a very brief moment, one or two do.

"Kensi, no…that's not what…"

"I've turned it all over in my head a thousand times, Deeks. All the things I could have done differently, all the things I should have done differently. I should have kept looking for you. I shouldn't have stopped. I never should have…"

"It doesn't matter," he says. "None of that matters anymore."

"It does. What you went through…"

"We both went through hell," he says.

"It's not the same."

"Different scars," he shrugs. "You have yours and I have mine."

* * *

_It's their first real stakeout together, and they're both going just a little bit mad from boredom even though it's only been three hours that they've been locked away in this nasty little motel room overlooking an even dirtier alley. This whole covert surveillance scenario is ridiculously clichéd and yet there's not a damn thing they can do about it._

_Besides make lame jokes, which even they have run out of after thee hours._

"_Five hours left," Deeks sighs as he gets up and makes his way back over to the coffee machine for his fourth cup of the terrible brew. Sam had made it on his way out, and well, suffice it to say, the former SEAL has no problem with thick as mud coffee, but Deeks certainly does._

_Still, he reasons, caffeine is caffeine and it's going to take a whole lot of it to get through this night._

"_We're never going to make it," Kensi shoots back dryly. "If you don't sit down and shut up for longer than two minutes at a time."_

"_I was sitting."_

"_For like thirty seconds. Do you really need more caffeine?"_

"_Seems to me you could use some sugar to cheer you up," Deeks fires back. "No ho-hos? Ding-dongs? Talk about bad planning."_

"_Deeks, please, I'm begging you."_

"_Oh, I like the sound of that."_

"_Whatever," she replies, then turns back to glance down the window. As she does, he sees her hand stray up and scratch at her forearm._

"_Got a bug bite?" he asks, dropping down into the chair next to her._

"_What?"_

"_You're scratching your arm."_

_She looks down. "Oh. No, old habit. It's a scar I got when I was younger."_

"_I bet you have a hundred of them."_

"_I have my share," she answers warily._

"_Well so do I. And I'm guessing that I actually have more than you."_

"_You wish."_

"_Really, seriously, I'm saying right here and now that I know that I can go scar for scar for you and still have some left over afterwards."_

"_Is this some weird way to get me naked?" she asks._

_His mouth falls open, and he has to admit, for a moment, she's thrown him a bit off. He hates that. Still, it's part of why he adores her; just about no one else can keep up with him much less win a few battles of sarcasm and wit._

_Kensi Blye, though, well she's a scrapper in more ways than one._

_And she's won more than a few of their battles._

_He recovers quickly, grinning in response. "Maybe." He makes sure to make his tone just lecherous enough._

_It works like a charm; she blinks, completely surprised._

_Aha. Serve expertly returned. _

_Then she rolls her eyes. _

"_Hey, I just figured since we're going to be up in this room all night watching the street and waiting for Corporal Hansen to show up and make us have to chase his pasty white ass down, we might as well entertain ourselves in the meanwhile. But if you don't want to play, that's cool. I understand."_

"_All right, fine, we'll...play. But I have one rule."_

"_So do I."_

_She lifts an eyebrow. "You do?"_

"_Yep. You have to tell the truth. You don't get to point to a scar you got from splicing your hand on a beer can and say that you got it stopping a bullet."_

"_Fine by me," she says with a slight smile._

"_Why do I get the feeling that was a loaded answer?"_

"_You're paranoid?"_

"_Uh huh. Okay, what's your rule?"_

"_Very simple; when I say I'm done, we're done. No pushing or asking for more information about any…scars. Deal?"_

"_Ooh, I'm intrigued."_

"_Deeks."_

"_Fine, fine, deal. I'll start. Okay, left forearm." He pulls up the sleeve of his red flannel shirt to reveal a long skinny scar on the inside of his forearm. "I'm twelve, I'm working on my bike, and a girl walks by and I try to smile at her, and as I do, the bike falls and my arm goes with it."_

"_Did you get a date out of it?"_

"_No. I think all the blood freaked her out. In fact, if I remember correctly, she didn't even stay around to help." He shrugs. "Her loss."_

"_Uh huh." She points to the scar that she'd been scratching at. "Thirteen, riding dirt bikes with my dad. My bike hit a rock and threw me about twenty feet in the air. Removed about three layers of skin."_

"_Ouch."_

"_I didn't cry."_

"_Of course not."_

"_Your turn."_

_He lifts up his chin, points to one on the underside of his jaw. "Skateboarding. I tried to do flip and I went one way, the board went the other. I cracked the hell out of my jaw on the cement. Knocked myself unconscious, too."_

"_What girl were you trying to impress?"_

"_You know, I don't even remember her name anymore."_

"_She didn't stick around either?"_

"_No. You women really have a thing about blood don't you?"_

_She laughs. "Not all of us." She lifts her hair and points to a small white scar near her scalp. "Uh, forehead, another bike accident when I was fourteen," _

"_Do I even want to guess how many times you've wrecked?"_

"_Half dozen or so," she replies nonchalantly._

"_Really? And you're still riding."_

"_I look good on a bike," she grins._

_He coughs and shakes his head. "Oh no, I'm not falling face-first into that one."_

"_Why not? You've seemed to fall face-first into everything else."_

"_See now, that's just mean."_

"_But no less true."_

"_Moving on," he laughs. He lifts the bottom of his shirt up, revealing slightly tanned skin. He points towards a red mark on his hip. "Surfing accident. Wiped out, got dragged under by the board. It took one hell of a chunk out of me."_

_She tilts her head to inspect the slightly jagged scar. "Yeah, it did."_

"_My girlfriend at the time was watching that one."_

"_She take good care of you?"_

"_She did. Most expertly." He smirks and then wiggles his eyebrows just enough to make his point clear. _

"_You're a pig."_

"_Yes, I am. You love me in spite of it."_

"_Love's not the word I would use, Deeks."_

"_I know," he nods. "Worship, idolize."_

"_God, stop, " she begs. Even so, she's grinning ear to ear._

"_Whatever you say, Princess."_

"_Please stop calling me that."_

"_Does it annoy you?"_

"_You know it does," she answers. He just grins in response. She sighs. "Okay, so, I think we're on the hip now."_

"_Sure," he nods. _

"_College, freshman year, I fell out a window."_

"_You fell out a window?"_

"_I'd had a bit to drink."_

"_And you fell out a window?"_

"_I thought we'd established that already."_

"_Uh huh, just making sure I heard right."_

"_You did."_

"_Well let's see it then." She's about to protest, but he quickly cuts her off. "Uh uh, doesn't count without visual proof."_

_She shrugs and then lifts up the hem of her shirt, and then scratches one of her fingers over a "z" shaped scar just below her hipbone. "It bled like you wouldn't believe. Course I was too busy laughing to care."_

"_You're lucky that's the only scar you got from that."_

"_Wasn't the only cut. My hands were spliced to hell."_

_He reaches out and takes one of his palms into his hand. He turns it over, and then runs a finger over the soft skin there. "No marks."_

_For a moment, she says nothing, just stares down at her small hand in his much larger one. She watches the way his finger slides across her palm, tracing the thin lines there._

_Finally, in a low voice she replies, "Yeah, no. I didn't…no marks."_

_He looks up at her and grins._

_It's enough to infuriate her._

"_Ugh," she grunts, and then shoves him away from her. She turns away from him, and looks back out the window, checking the alley below._

"_Okay, okay," he says. "No more recreational scars. Professional only now."_

"_Fine," she mutters, still refusing to turn back around. She's not about to admit that she's a bit embarrassed by her reaction to his touch._

_Mostly though, she's annoyed at how easily he'd climbed under her skin. _

_Again._

"_Kensi, come on, partner, don't sulk," he chides, sounding far too proud of himself. Then, after a sip of his coffee, he says, "Knife wound on the side," he lifts his shirt up. She sees his well-muscled abdomen, but quickly averts her eyes, following the trail of his fingers up to a scar on right side. "Now you want a bleeder, that was it."_

"_I can beat that. Knife wound, stomach." _

"_You know, I never took you for shy," he teases after she makes no move to pull up her shirt._

"_This is a cheap attempt to get me naked, isn't it?"_

"_Please," he laughs. "If I was going to do that, I'd do what every other guy you date does, offer you alcohol and throw insults at you." He pauses for a moment. "On the other hand, maybe that is what I'm doing. Sans the alcohol, of course."_

"_Keep it up, Deeks," she growls. She knows she should be offended by his prior comment, but she can tell he means it completely in jest – he's just looking for the easiest way to annoy her. And dammit, finding it all too easily. Irritated with him, but unwilling to let him know that (though she's quite certain that he knows exactly that) she drops her hands down, and lifts her blue shirt up a bit more, exposing the length of her taut and tanned stomach. Right above her belly button is an oddly shaped somewhat circular dark red mark. It's not like any knife wound that he's ever seen before_

"_Damn," he says, and suddenly there's a hint of seriousness in his tone. _

"_Hurt like hell," she shrugs._

"_Did you pass out?"_

"_No."_

_He stares at her for a moment, and to her credit, she holds the gaze. Doesn't matter, though; as usual, and once again, he sees right through her._

"_Yes, you did."_

"_In the ambulance," she insists. "I stayed conscious for as long as I needed to."_

"_Was this before Callen and Sam?"_

"_Yeah. My last job."_

"_Which was?"_

"_Special Ops."_

"_You never did Special Forces."_

"_No," she agrees._

"_So…"_

"_So, it's need to know," she smiles faux sweetly. "And you don't."_

"_Okay, that hurt." He puts his hand over his heart. "Painful. So painful."_

_Her smile grows. She's sure that under his show of humor, he's a bit hurt by her unwillingness to talk about her pre NCIS work. She figures she could talk to him about the unclassified parts of this mission if she wanted to (though to be honest, there are precious few of those), but right now, she's enjoying even a brief moment of knowing something that he doesn't._

_She knows she'll pay for it eventually._

"_So seriously," he presses. "There's a deep dark side of you?"_

"_Of all of us, Deeks. I'm sure you have a few cases you'd rather not talk about."_

"_True, but none that are so-called need to know."_

_She shrugs. He thinks maybe he sees something though, something lurking deep within her dark eyes._

_Fear? No, that isn't right._

_Guilt? Remorse? Regret?_

_Self-disgust?_

_Anguish and pain?_

_He doesn't know a lot about what exactly Special Ops is (or at least what it is when Kensi's involved with it), but he's been doing undercover work for a very long time, and he knows that sometimes, what you have to do to get the job done – and to survive – can be enough to destroy your soul if you let it._

"_So," she says abruptly. "I think it's your turn."_

"_Right," he nods, oddly grateful to be returning their conversation back to the lightness of before. He has a feeling that maybe this isn't something he wants to push too hard on. At least not yet._

"_Okay, stapler to the chest."_

_Before he can pull up his shirt to show off his battle scar, she laughs. "As in an office stapler?"_

"_Yes."_

"_You got wounded by an office stapler?"_

"_And you fell out a window."_

"_I was drunk."_

"_I was ambushed," he insists._

"_By a stapler. Wow."_

"_You know, you're supposed to be supportive."_

"_I'm supportive."_

"_Really? When's the last time you passed up an easy opportunity to mock me?"_

"_Why would I do that?"_

"_To be supportive."_

"_When's the last time you passed one up?" she shoots back._

"_Earlier today. When we stopped for sandwiches and you wolfed yours down in about four and a half minutes."_

"_Wasn't that fast," she mumbles._

"_You know," he says, taking another sip from his cup. "Explain that to me."_

"_What?"_

"_Why you eat so fast."_

"_I don't know what you're talking about."_

"_You're a terrible liar."_

"_I'm very good at lying," she replies quickly, and once again he thinks maybe he hears a hint of self-disgust in her tone._

"_Maybe professionally," he nods. "But personally? You're pathetic."_

"_What every girl wants to hear, Deeks," she shoots back. "No wonder you're single."_

"_Oh! Kensi for the win!"_

_She grins, victorious. _

_He has no intention of letting her get the victory quite so easily._

"_I'll have you know, I'm single by choice."_

"_Sure you are."_

"_I'm a man who can't be caged, Kensi. I can't be contained. And you know, I keep thinking, it's probably not right to keep all of this-" he points to himself –"away from all the ladies who might want out."_

"_All two of them?"_

"_Really? Two of them?" Then he shrugs. "I suppose I should be happy that you gave me two."_

"_I was being generous."_

"_Of course. And what about you? You're not single by choice."_

_She rolls her eyes. "Show me your red badge of courage from your attack by the vicious stapler, would you already?"_

"_Of course."_

_He lifts his shirt just about all the way up, and points to a small dent like mark – just barely visible – right along the side of his upper left ribcage._

_She leans forward and surprises him by placing the tip of her finger against the scar. He reacts slightly to her warm touch, but doesn't pull her away. Still, just as mesmerized as she was by the visual of her hand in his, he's nearly awe-struck by the sight of her palm against his chest._

"_That's…ridiculous," she says with a laugh, but doesn't move her hand._

"_I'll have you know," he replies, "That it hurt like hell."_

"_Yes, but getting your finger pricked makes you whine."_

"_It hurts," he insists. "They always say it doesn't, but that's because they're on the other side of the needle. It's easy for them to say that."_

"_Not much for needles," she admits._

"_Me, either," he says, a thoughtful edge coming over him. "Seen a few too many people go the bad way because of them."_

"_Yeah. Me, too," she answers softly, and there's something in her tone that says that maybe there's more to her comment than just a general dislike of needles._

"_Corporal Hansen," he says suddenly._

"_What?"_

"_He's outside. And it looks like he's finishing up the deal. We can make the arrest and be home on the couch within two hours."_

"_Oh, thank God," Kensi snorts, grabbing her jacket and gun. Deeks follows suit. _

_Just as they're leaving the hotel room, Deeks turns to face her, "So where would the next scar have been?"_

"_I guess you'll have to wait to find out won't you?" she chuckles._

"_How long?"_

"_Until I think you've earned the right to know."_

"_Well then, when you put it like that, I guess I will."_

* * *

"We both have a few more scars now," she whispers, looking down at her hands. She sees the faded marks on her knuckles, unwanted and un-returnable souvenirs of a mission gone very wrong. Almost as if on cue, her ribs ache and groan with the phantom memory of having been broken months earlier.

"Kensi, looks at me," Deeks says gently. "This…what happened to me, what happened to us…it isn't your fault, and it never was. I have never blamed you and never will. Never." He reaches out and touches his hand to her cheek. His fingers are rough and calloused, but still familiar. "We can go through all of this and what happened to us over and over again, and knowing the two of us, we will, but right now, there's only one thing either of us can actually do to fix any of it. To fix us."

"Finish Kassel," she says.

He nods. "Yeah. He took six months from me. He made me into someone I've fought my entire life not to be. He made me into addict. I owe him."

"We both do," she says, though she has no intention of cataloguing the reasons why. She's content with having the torture of her partner be considered his greatest offense – she simply doesn't want to think about what he did to her.

It's small and unimportant in the grand scheme of things, she figures.

After all, she had consented to what he'd done to her on the couch. Therefore, it was just an unfortunate act that she wished had never happened. Nothing more.

But what he did to Deeks, to her partner, to her friend, well that has to be answered for. One way or the other. Behind bars or beneath dirt.

"You sure about this?" she asks once again, and this time she's the one smiling slightly because the words are familiar, a ghost of a different time – one when he'd saved her life by reaching out his hands to her.

It works; he can't help but laugh as he, too, is hit with the memories. "No."

* * *

_Once the reports have been filed, Mattias has been threatened, and the good nights have been said, the two weary and bruised up partners make their way to a somewhat dirty and slightly skizzy little dive in North Hollywood (Deeks swears by it, says the prices here are fantastic for even the top of the line ales and imports), and she thanks him with a beer. _

_After what he'd done back at the football stadium and in the room with all of the crazy red lasers, she figures that it's the very least she can do for him._

_He, of course, orders the priciest import he can find on the liquor menu (which at this place, costs about as much as Bud Light at most bars – apparently, Deeks knows his way around the grungy side of town – something she figures she'll have to learn more about the deeper into their partnership they go). Having expected no less than that, she just smirks and tells him that even though his chosen alcohol is semi-expensive, it's still as thin and weak as piss-water. _

"_How's your back?" she asks him between sips from her bottle of dark ale. Her eyes are on the TV on the opposite side of the bar, and she's somewhat absently watching highlights from a Lakers game that she cares nothing about._

"_Hurts like hell," he admits, shifting in his heat. He's been doing that for the last five minutes, making it impossible for her not to notice and comment on._

_She snorts._

"_What?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_That wasn't a 'nothing' snort."_

"_You know my snorts now?" she asks with a hint of bemusement._

"_Getting to, and that one was certainly not a 'nothing' one. So, out with it."_

"_I'm just…it's just…well you were pretty heroic today."_

"_I should like where this is going," he says. "But I have a feeling I won't."_

"_You watch baseball at all?" she asks._

"_Sure. I bleed Dodger blue."_

"_Okay, then you know how they always say that after you make a great play, like a line drive catch that just about rips your glove off and makes you palm feel like it's on fire, that you shouldn't shake your hand and show it hurts?"_

"_This is your nice way of calling me a wuss, isn't it?" Deeks asks with a laugh._

"_At least it was the nice way."_

"_So, just to make sure I understand, I'm supposed to tell you the same thing I told the medic? That I'm fine?"_

"_Yes."_

"_You want me to lie to you?"_

"_No."_

"_I don't understand."_

_She shrugs._

"_You know what?" he says. "Next time, I'm letting you get your ass blown up."_

"_No, you won't."_

"_No, I won't," he admits. "But I should."_

_And then she smiles at him, her eyes twinkling._

"_Are you…you're screwing with me, aren't you?"_

"_A bit too easily," she admits. _

"_Not nice."_

_She chuckles. And then, her face growing serious, she says, "What you did was incredibly stupid, you know that, right?"_

"_I've seen you do stupider."_

"_Really?"_

"_Every single day. Only you do it so well that everyone thinks it's just Kensi being Kensi. Every day, you go all Xena Warrior Princess on the bad guys, and all of us just whistle along like it's no big deal."_

"_It is no big deal," she shoots back, seeming slightly offended._

"_Maybe for you it's not, but for me, it's still pretty damn impressive. And pretty damn stupid sometimes." _

_She sighs loudly, making it clear that she doesn't want to continue having this conversation. _

"_That usually works for you, doesn't it?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_When things get uncomfortable, you make a sound, you fidget, you do something and Callen and Sam back right off."_

"_They know me. They know when there's nothing to say."_

"_Uh huh. Kensi, we almost got blown up today. Like, into little pieces. I think there's a few things to talk about between us."_

'_Okay," she answers, taking him by surprise._

"_Okay?" He tilts his head. "Wait, what's the catch?"_

"_Who said anything about a catch?"_

"_There's always a catch with you."_

_She smirks. "I'll make you a deal, Deeks. If we make a year of partnership, I'll tell you what my…feelings…about today were."_

"_Really?"_

"_Really."_

"_That's a terrible deal."_

"_But it's the deal there is. Take it or leave it."_

"_So, if I somehow miraculously manage to tolerate you for a year…"_

_She interrupts him with a loud snort. _

"_Now see, that was your derisive snort. The other one was more of a mocking kind of snort."_

"_Yeah. I'm sorry, but you tolerate me? I think you need to reverse that."_

"_Nah. I'm charming and adorable. You're crazy and…"_

"_Watch it."_

_He just smirks in response, earning him a punch to the shoulder. _

"_All right, Partner," Deeks says. "One year. I can do this."_

"_We'll see," she laughs.  
_

* * *

"So it looks like we made it a year," Deeks says softly, still looking into the mirror. "As long as you don't mind the brief intermission."

"I do," she replies. "I mind it a lot."

It's like he doesn't hear her. Instead, still looking at his own reflection, he continues, "Maybe when this is over, I'll ask you to pay up."

"I look forward to it."

"There's a change, huh?" he chuckles, turning to face her. Then, before she can reply, he says. "All right, let's go do this. One last dance for Jimmy Reese."

"Just remember who you actually are, okay?"

"And who is that?" he asks, turning and looking at her with more sincerity than she's ever seen in his eyes. There's pain streaking across his deep blues, and vulnerability seems to be shining out at her like rays from the sun. It's almost too much for her. "Who am I?"

"My partner. My friend," she answers, reaching out and taking his hand. She almost adds "my lover" but stops short – she has no idea where they stand in regards to what they'd done that night. Friendship is easy – beyond that? Who knows. It's complicated. And potentially one hell of a minefield.

He laughs then, somewhat suddenly.

"What?"

"I just realized that you can't keep your hands off of me."

"Seriously, Deeks?" There's no small amount of relief in her tone. It occurs to her that If he's making jokes, even lame ones like this, it means that despite his efforts, Chris Kassel didn't succeed in destroying Marty Deeks. It means that underneath all of the pain that Deeks is wearing like a Kevlar vest right about now, there's still the goofy cop who never quite knows when to shut up.

She never thought she'd miss that guy as much as she does.

He gestures with his eyes down towards her hands, which are still touching his. And then he smiles. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's a valiant attempt.

And an appreciated one.

"Let's finish this bastard," Kensi says with a nod.

"I'm going to need my hands back for that," Deeks tells her, stepping close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

"Right," she replies, not bothering to remove her hands. The anticipation of the moment is filling the room with a kind of thick tension.

"We're going to have a lot to talk about when this is over," he whispers, leaning in towards her, allowing his cool breath to ghost across her cheek.

"Yeah."

"Then let's get to later," he says abruptly, breaking the moment. He steps back and away from her, casts one more glance at the mirror, and then turns and exits the room, leaving her to gaze after him.

It occurs to her then that this nightmare which has consumed every moment of her life for the last seven months is – hopefully - almost over.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and silently asks her father for the strength and courage that she's going to need to get through the next few hours, and then, opening her dark eyes again, she follows after Deeks.

* * *

_She's not completely surprised to find Callen at her door when she answers it (ever since she'd been released from the hospital, the guys – including Eric – have been dropping by at all hours of the night.) She is, howeve, surprised to see him holding a six-pack of beer in his hand._

"_Hey," he says with a smile._

"_Hey. I thought you and Sam had a game," she says as she holds the door open to allow him in. Once he is, she shuts and locks the door behind him._

"_It was a blowout early so I checked out," Callen shrugs. "I thought maybe we could talk."_

_She sighs loudly. "Callen, I'm fine."_

"_I wouldn't be if Sam were missing and presumed dead."_

_She doesn't have an immediate answer for that so she says nothing at all. It's been almost two months that Deeks has been missing, and no one really believes that he'll be found. No one outside of Eric, anyway, and the chances are that Eric only believes it because the alternative is simply unthinkable to him._

"_I've lost partners before," she says finally, thickly. She reaches for a beer, uncaps it and takes a healthy swig. _

"_Don't do this," Callen says. "Deeks isn't like Dom. What you and Deeks went through…"_

"_I don't want to talk about it, G. Please."_

"_I know. And I won't make you talk about what happened during the mission. I…I probably wouldn't want to, either. But if you ever do…you know, want to talk, about any of it, I'm right here. You know that, right?"_

_She nods._

"_I just want to make sure you're okay."_

"_I'm doing the best I can."_

"_And that's better than most people, but Kens…we can't lose you, too."_

"_I'm stronger than that, Callen. I'll be okay."_

_He takes a deep breath. "Okay. So three and three?" He holds up the six – or rather five-pack._

"_Unless I get to four first."_

_He chuckles. "What are we watching?"_

"_House Hunters."_

"_There's nothing better on?"_

"_It's ten at night, Callen. There's the news, house shows, home shows, cooking shows and porn. Pick one."_

_He smiles slightly._

"_Not that one."_

"_I'd never say that one."_

"_He would."_

"_Yes, he would," Callen nods. "And if he is alive, we will find him and bring him home. And if he's not, we'll still bring him home."_

"_We have to."_

"_We will."_

"_Good. So, uh, House Hunters then?"_

"_Fine. You got any chips?"_

"_In the pantry. But you better hurry, I'm starting on number two now." She holds up one of the bottles of beer._

"_Are the house shows any better when you're drunk?" he asks as he retrieves salsa and chips from her pantry._

"_Much. "_

"_That's a relief." He drops down next to her on the couch, not quite touching, but close enough that should she need the comfort (he knows full well that she's nowhere close to being ready to ask for it or receive it yet), he'll be there to supply it. Right now, if that's all he can do, then that's what he needs to do._

_It's not near enough to make this nightmare any less for anyone, but he supposes that it's something just the same. _

* * *

They're in two separate cars. Deeks is driving ahead in a car that he'll claim he boosted if anyone asks. The others – Callen, Kensi and Sam - are behind him in Sam's Dodge Charger. The drive to the mansion where Kassel's son is holding court is short and silent. They all know the plan and they all hate it.

No one says a word.

Not until Deeks parks, touches his earwig and says, "I'm going in." He then adjusts his shirt where a button camera is. A moment later, he pulls the earwig out, and drops it on the ground.

Just in case.

Chances are the camera will get through a quick pat-down or security check (as long as Cavanaugh isn't using anything that can detect a live feed – but if he is, the feed can be turned off), but not the earwig.

And for this horrible plan to work, everything has to go just right.

Deeks takes a breath and then steps up to the front door. He knocks. A moment later, a man appears.

"I'm…I'm here for Justin," Deeks says, slurring his voice ever so slightly.

"And you are, sir?" the man replies, looking him over. His eyes light on Deeks' exposed forearm, where several track marks can be seen. Most of them are genuine, but a bit of makeup has been applied to make them look fresher. The make-up won't stand up to close scrutiny, but it's unlikely that either Justin Cavanaugh or his lackey will care to inspect the wounds too clearly.

No, ideally, Justin will be far too interested in getting Jimmy home to Kassel.

"J…Jimmy. Jimmy Reese. I need his help. Please." He reaches down and scratches at his arm, then adds a slight shake and shudder for effect.

Apparently, it works because the man nods and says, "Stay here. I'll get Mr. Cavanaugh."

"I have to stay here? It's cold, man, and I'm hungry."

"Stay."

Deeks shifts again, but obeys. He continues moving around, though, allowing the button camera to see as much as possible. It's probably five minutes later when Cavanaugh appears, looking slightly rumpled, like he was pulled away from something – or someone – far more enjoyable.

"There you are, Jimmy," Cavanaugh says, grabbing his arm. "We've been looking everywhere for you. Where the hell have you been?"

"I…I don't know. I…went to see that girl…and I barely got away. Man, she acted like she knew me."

"You telling me you got your ass kicked by a girl?"

"She wasn't just any girl."

"So I've heard. How'd you get away?"

"I ran. And I found some dudes downtown who had some stuff."

"They just gave it to you?"

Deeks shakes his head.

Cavanaugh laughs. "You shanked their asses?"

"I needed it…but it wasn't…it wasn't like the stuff Mr. Kassel has…"

"No, I'd imagine not." He turns to the guy at the door. "Check him over, make sure he's clean, and then bring him inside. I'm pretty sure my dad is going to want him home tonight."

"Yes, sir," the doorman says as he starts to pat Deeks down, taking no care to be gentle or non-invasive.

"You are a valuable asset, Jimmy. My dad wasn't pleased when he thought he'd lost you. He'll be happy to have you back."

"I just want some stuff, man."

Cavanaugh shakes his head in disgust. "Fucking junkies. He good?"

"Yes, sir. He's clean."

"All right. Do a check to make sure he doesn't have any trailers or shadows."

"Got it," the guard says before moving away again.

"No one followed me," Deeks insists mildly.

"Like you'd notice if they did," Cavanaugh says with a shake of his head. "You druggies never notice anything. All you care about is where the needle is."

* * *

_The first time Marty Deeks puts the needle in his arm, he almost throws up. It gets easier after that. After awhile, he stops noticing or caring about the pain or discomfort._

_He just wants the release._

_The peace. The ability to forget that he's being held prisoner by a madman who wants to destroy everything that he is.  
_

_It's amazing how quickly you stop caring about what you've become when nothing hurts. It's amazing how much you'll do to get that feeling of calm._

_Pretty much anything._

_Including kill._

_On the night he goes to Kensi Blye's apartment, his instructions are simple – kill the woman and be rewarded._

_It's all he cares about._

* * *

"He's gone inside with Cavanaugh," Callen says, watching through binoculars. "We have video, Eric?"

"We do," the tech replies. "Kensi, it's streaming to the URL I gave you earlier. Punch it up on your iPad."

"Doing so now," she says, quickly typing in the URL. The page refreshes to show video of Deeks making his way into the mansion, followed closely by Cavanaugh.

That's when she sees it.

Deeks is walking a few steps ahead, of Cavanaugh, trying to act the role of Jimmy who has no idea how endangered his life is. He's ambling, and off-balance, twitchy and nervous. He's making his way towards the Living Room, touching things as he goes.

He never sees Cavanaugh pick up the beet bottle off the table.

"Deeks!" she calls out, knowing that he can't hear her. She feels utterly helpless.

* * *

_It's maddening being in the rear with the gear, but ever since her return to duty, that's pretty much been where's been. She's not allowed to be in the field, and she's all but useless around the office._

_And so for the most part, all she does is watch the screens as Sam and Callen work the jobs. She sees them go into buildings where gunman are waiting for them. She can only stand and watch. _

_She's going just a little bit crazy._

_Kensi Blye is not one for doing nothing at all. Especially not when everything in the world is going straight to hell. _

_The guys know it. Hetty knows it. Everyone knows it._

_And yet, there's nothing that can be done about it._

_All she can do right now is watch and listen and wait. _

_And hope that at the end of the day, she doesn't lose any more family._

* * *

Marty Deeks feels the sharp pain of something solid – like a glass bottle – as it comes down hard on the back of his skull.

He sees nothing but bright light for a moment, and then darkness. He feels himself tumble to his knees, and then collapse onto his back.

And God if this all doesn't feel so horribly familiar.

He forces himself to open his eyes and look up. When he does, he sees Cavanaugh above him.

"You ran away from us."

"No…"

He thinks maybe he's going to throw up. He wonders where the others are. Are they on their way in?

Please?

And then he remembers the mission. The plan.

He has to convince Cavanaugh to take him to Kassel.

"You did. We took care of you, and you disappeared. How do we know you don't think you're Deeks again, Jimmy?"

Deeks blinks. His mind whirls. This is all too much for him. His grasp on his sanity feels so fragile and tentative.

He knows who he is.

At least he's pretty sure he does.

Deeks, right?

No, not for right now.

Jimmy. He has to be Jimmy.

"Deeks never existed," he gasps out. "I'm Jimmy."

"Yeah, well how'd you find me, Jimmy? How'd you find this place?"

"Sanchez."

"Paul?"

"They let me in as Deeks. And Sanchez, he sung like a bird."

"I bet he did. So what about the woman? Agent Blye. What happened?"

"She got the jump on me. I…was off..I needed."

"I get it," Cavanaugh growls. "You needed a hit. Jesus, junkies are useless. Did you recognize at her? She seem familiar?"

"No, but she sure acted like she really knew me. And they all said they knew me. They really believe this Deeks guy is a real person."

"Yeah. How'd you get away from them?"

"I told you; I ran." He knows it's weak, but the way Cavanaugh is treating him – like he's an idiot five year old – Deeks thinks this story might just be good enough. Thankfully, even if Cavanaugh has all of his father's sadistic steak, he seems to be lacking his old man's savvy and paranoid intelligence.

"They just let you go? Just like that?" He seems more curious than suspicious.

"I told them what they wanted to hear. They want to believe it so badly. They want this Deeks guy so much. Especially her. I…I think she's in love with him."

Cavanaugh laughs. "And you? What do you feel for her?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. She means…nothing."

"Good boy. You want a hit, good boy?"

Deeks swallows hard, tears in his eyes. The truth is – and it's a horrifying truth for him – he does want a hit. Desperately so.

"You do, don't you?"

"Yes." He's not sure if he's acting anymore.

"As soon as you're back home, we'll get you one. But my dad is going to want to talk to you. He's going to want hear all about your old buddies. All about _her_."

"Just…please." He hates the weakness he hears in his voice.

"Don't worry, Jimmy, it's almost over." And then with that, he lunges out and kicks Deeks across the face as hard as he can. There's a crack and a stream of blood down his face, but Deeks feels none of that.

All he feels is his consciousness slipping away. And he can't help but wonder if his nightmare is about to begin anew.

**TBC…**


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Well, I did warn you last chapter that I tend struggle to write in the summer. Mix in some craziness at the office, and well you end up with really long delays. That said, here you go. The end is quite near now. This piece WILL be concluded before the S3 premiere. Thanks for all of the kind words, and I hope you continue to enjoy the journey. It's been a painful one for our heroes. Ahead, violence and some minor sexual references. Again, thank you.**

* * *

The video has gone completely dark. Eric claims that the camera on Deeks' shirt is still transmitting, but it appears that Deeks is lying on it, causing the camera to see nothing but the blackness of the ground beneath him.

Then again, that's probably all Deeks is seeing as well. Assuming he's conscious, which no one assumes he is.

No one says a word. No one has to. They all know the stakes; they all know how easily this plan could end up destroying them all.

They all now how very close to the edge each one of them really is.

Still, that doesn't stop either of the men from glancing at her repeatedly. And they're not at all subtle about it. She can feel their gazes on her, their eyes drifting over her.

She can feel their worry.

And that burns at her.

Kensi Blye is no fucking damsel in distress.

Even if this case – this awful horrible case – begs to differ.

Sure, she's turned into a bit of a mental case. Sure, she's spent a good amount of time questioning her sanity and wondering if there's a light at the end of this hellish tunnel, but still – still – she's no victim.

Not now. Not ever.

No matter what Nate thinks.

No matter what _anyone_ thinks.

She tries to focus her mind, tries to think of the plan.

Tries not to think about her partner lying – most likely unconscious - in the van just ahead of them on the road, his life once again in terrible jeopardy.

"Sam," she says softly, suddenly realizing with a small jolt of shock just how close to the van they are. Too close, she thinks, panic racing through her blood like hot lava. "Maybe we should…maybe, you know…"

"Don't worry," he tells her, his voice gentle. "He doesn't see me."

She nods, a hand reaching out to absently rub at her wounded shoulder. The scratch that the bullet graze had left on her is healing up, but she can still feel the injury if she moves her arm too quickly. "Right," she murmurs. She should have known better than to even think to question Sam on this; he's run a tail more than a few dozen times. He knows how to do it, and how to do it well. Assuming otherwise is simply an insult to him.

Thankfully, right now, Sam isn't about to hold that against her.

He knows where her mind is at the moment. At least he thinks he does. Pretty much the same place his mind would be if that were Callen in the van ahead.

Well, perhaps not _exactly_ the same place.

Throughout the course of the case, the relationship between Kensi and Deeks had clearly shifted and changed, going from a platonic friendship to a sexual well…something. It had moved from a well functioning partnership (even if they hadn't realized it) to something far deeper and more intense in nature.

There's a reason why romantic entanglements are discouraged (though not forbidden, curiously enough), Sam muses as he shifts the Charger just a bit, angling it so as to not be immediately visible should Cavanaugh glance in his rearview mirrors. When feelings get involved, well-intentioned and considered rulebooks tend to get thrown out the window. When that happens, sense and logic have a nasty habit of becoming just empty buzz words.

It becomes all about emotion, and the moment that occurs, things tend to get very dangerous and out of control in a hurry.

Still, what's done is done.

And it's hardly as if the two of them had just jumped into bed together because of raw lust and silly youthful passion. No, they'd pretty much been forced into each other's arms thanks to the hideous and cruel actions of a sociopathic maniac.

He's brought away from his darkening thoughts by the sound of Callen's voice, low and worried. "Kensi?" the blonde team leader asks, glancing into the backseat. Callen doesn't bother following up with the obvious "are you okay?" question – it's pretty much assumed.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, no real confidence behind the words. She glances out the window, stares at the passing road.

"We're not going to lose him," Callen assures her, touching her lightly on the arm. She reacts to that, glancing down at his hand. She smiles ever so slightly at the contact, then turns back to look out the window.

"I know," she answers finally.

He almost asks her if she's ready for this – ready to face Kassel and bring him to justice (such a stupid phrase, Callen thinks – there are some things for which there is no justice and no proper repayment or compensation) – but at the last moment, he stops himself. Maybe because he doesn't completely want to know the answer. Maybe because he knows that they're not exactly on the same page.

The furious and angry part of Callen wants only one thing; Christopher Kassel in a body bag, his body riddled with bullets. The logical part of him wants Kassel in cuffs, behind bars, nothing but another lowlife serving out his days with three squares and a cot.

He knows which one Kensi wants. He wonders how far she's willing to go to make that happen. Is she willing to cross lines?

Are there lines left to cross?

Callen knows a bit about her past – not much, but a bit. He knows about her murdered father and her traumatized ex fiancée. He knows that she's lost more than she's ever gained. He knows that the world pretty much owes her a few breaks. It owes her a few wins, but seems reluctant to let her have them.

And he knows that right now, Kensi Blye is sick of losing.

And sick of hurting.

The last seven months have been hellish for her. The nightmares have been horrific, but worse than that has been the guilt and the feeling of not being herself. A shrink would probably tell her that her inability to fire her gun with the same phenomenal aim as before is at least somewhat related to her guilt.

In fact, Callen is fairly certain that Kensi's NCIS assigned shrink Doctor Crosby has told her this a time or two. At least.

Knowing the whys doesn't always change things, though.

And telling someone that they're not to blame rarely makes a bit of difference.

Especially to a woman like Kensi, who is so very good at shouldering the weight of the world.

"Hey, guys," they hear Eric say over their earpieces. Callen sees Sam lift a hand up to his ear. It's a nervous and anxious tick, a sign that the big former SEAL is sick of sitting around. He wants to do some damage of his own right about now.

"What's up, Eric?" Callen asks, his blue eyes swinging to the road ahead of them. The white unmarked van that Cavanaugh is transporting Deeks in is several long car lengths ahead, turning around a wind in the road.

"I think I know where Cavanaugh is going," Eric answers. Before anyone can ask the obvious question, the blonde tech continues. "There's a cabin up at the top of the road you're on. In fact, the road empties out into it. It's overlooking the bluffs."

"Why are they headed there?" Sam asks, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel, nails biting into the thick leather.

"The cabin is owned by a man named Alex Ruiz-Lopez," Eric tells them.

"Who we believe is an alias for a man named Alejandro Ruiz," another voice – this one belonging to Nate – says. "We wanted to run the ID by Lieutenant Sanchez, but that's no longer a possibility."

"Why?" Sam asks, exchanging a look with Callen.

"Lieutenant Sanchez is dead," Hetty tells them, reminding everyone the little Ops Manager is never far from the scene. She might be quiet and in the background, but she's always somewhere involved. "He committed suicide this morning. Seems a guard forgot to properly check him after he returned from dinner. He slit his wrists with a sharpened utensil he stole from the meal hall."

"Only downside is we can't use him to testify against Kassel," Callen notes. He's not about to shed any tears for Paul Sanchez, a little monster in his right. Sanchez had violated the oath he had taken when he had become a soldier. He'd done things that no good man could ever comprehend. And he done them for no other real reason than money and pride.

"True," Hetty notes. "But I suspect we'll have more than enough without him."

"Eric, do you have a picture of Alex Ruiz-Lopez?" Kensi cuts in suddenly. She doesn't really care about Sanchez anymore. He'd been nothing but a low man on the totem pole, an angry little thug running drugs and hurting as many people as he could along the way. Now dead, she refuses to waste another thought on him. His replacement is the one she wants now – Alejandro.

"Yup," Eric answers. "Already on its way to your cell phone now, Kens." There's gentleness in his tone, too. It's just about too much for her. They're all treating her like fine china being held over the ground. Like if they take one wrong step, and "drop" her, she'll shatter into a thousand little irreparable broken shards.

She wonders if they're right. She's beginning to think they are.

"Thanks," she mutters, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Almost immediately, there's a beep. She looks down and sees a text on her screen. She clicks on it and brings the picture up.

"Is that Alejandro?" Callen asks, peering over the top of the phone.

"Yes," she whispers.

Indeed, Alex Ruiz-Lopez is absolutely Alejandro. It's a face she'll never forget.

Seven months earlier, she had been convinced that Alejandro had murdered Deeks. She had been sure that on Kassel's orders, the big burly thug had shot Deeks twice, killing him almost immediately (or so at the time, she had prayed – the less pain, the better, for everyone).

The memory of the sound of those bullets had woken her up from a fitful sleep on more than a few occasions.

In fact, they'd woken her up almost every night.

* * *

_She comes awake with a silent open-mouthed cry of anguish, unshed tears stinging in her eyes. She's breathing hard – painfully hard. She can feel the tightening of her chest as her heart slams forcefully against her ribcage._

_Panic streaking through her, she reaches out blindly, one hand desperately turning on the light in the room, while the other gropes around the bed looking for something else._

_No, not her gun._

_Him._

_Monty._

_Deeks' mangy mutt._

_She winds her fingers into his short curly fur, and inhales sharply; calm finally winding it's way through her. Air seems to seep into her lung. She exhales._

_She can still remember every scene of her nightmare vividly. No shock really, considering she has this same exact dream every night. Or at least some very close variation of it._

_Two shots._

_Bang. Bang._

_She always does exactly what she had done in reality – she calls for him._

_And then Kassel always says exactly what he'd said, "I think we can both agree now that actions have consequences, Agent Blye."_

_That's where the dream always changes and twists. Sometimes, the next thing she sees is Kassel atop her, and even though it's a dream, she can always feel his touch and his invasion. She can always taste the blood he draws when he bites her lip as he shoves his tongue into her mouth._

_Most of the time, though, it's all about Deeks. How he's hurt. How he dies._

_Tonight, Sam and Callen had shown up._

_Callen had reminded her that she hadn't been ready. Sam had simply shaken his head and said, "We never leave a man behind, Kensi. Never."_

_Only she had._

_She'd been rescued, Deeks hadn't._

_She'd left him behind._

_Monty whines and curls into her side. After a moment, when she doesn't respond to him, he leans up and licks her face. And then he does it again._

_It's enough to make her smile, just a bit._

"_Stop," she says, pushing him slightly away. That, of course, just makes him redouble his efforts._

_How like his master._

_The thought – and the bitter understanding of just how much she misses her partner and her friend - hits her hard, making her audibly gasp for air. _

_She slides a hand over her heart, feels the pounding of it. She inhales, exhales, fighting desperately to fights back the panic attack that is once again beginning to form. "Just a dream," she reminds herself shakily, not believing her own words._

_Because Deeks being dead, well that's not just a dream. It's a fucking nightmare for sure, but it's also reality. And there's nothing she can do about it._

_Her heart pounds faster. She sucks in a deep breath, tries again to calm herself._

_And then Month whines again._

_He can feel her anxiety, sense her pain. He rolls on his back and presents his belly to her, and then whimpers again. He paws at her, forces her to look at him. _

"_You are persistent," she mutters as she sees the dog rolled on his back, his tongue out. Then, with a small smile, she reaches down and scratches his belly._

_He wags his tail, and huffs his approval._

_In spite of herself, she laughs._

_She doesn't dream again that night._

_But then, she never returns to sleep either._

_Three hours will have to be enough._

_Three hours eventually become all she'll get on most nights._

_After three hours, the nightmares always wake her._

* * *

Marty Deeks wakes up in the back of another fucking van.

This time, he's only pretending to be unconscious. He hurts, but for now, he pushes all of that back. For now, he focuses on only the rage and self-hatred that are running through his veins like poison, destroying everything in its path.

Everything good and right and sane.

If he were right in his head, right in his soul, he'd know that allowing the rage and self-hatred to fester can only to lead to damnation. Right now, he just doesn't care. So he lets those twin feelings drive him forward. He lets them control him.

Rage for all that was taken from him. And from Kensi.

Self-hatred at what he has become.

A pathetic shell of a man who has only two things on his mind right now.

Kill Kassel and find a way to get some heroin back into his bloodstream.

He prays to a god that he's no longer sure exists that his teammates – that Kensi - can keep him from at least one of those things. Preferably, the latter.

After all, he can't imagine the world mourning the death of a piece of shit like Christopher Kassel.

He hears a phone sing out a merry ringtone. In the passenger seat a few feet in front of him, he sees Kassel's son, Justin Cavanaugh, answer his cell. "Hey, Pops. Yeah. No, he's out cold. Uh uh, he's jonesing for a hit like you wouldn't believe." He glances down at the mirror on the side of the van, and then shakes his head in the negative even though Kassel most likely can't see him. "Nope, no one is following us. Yeah, I'm sure. Right. Five minutes, Pops."

Cavanaugh glances back behind him, smirks at Deeks' form and then shakes his head in disgust. Like he can't quite stand the sight of the fallen cop.

Deeks doesn't quite blame him – at least not for that. Right now, he looks just like every other junkie – too thin, too pale and too weak. Just barely a shell of a man.

Still, he has a purpose, and that means something. Absent anything else to really hold onto (as much as it might seem easy to do so, he can't imagine burdening Kensi with the disgusting mess of a man that he has become – she deserves better, he owes her more), he clings frantically to the idea of vengeance.

So he holds on to his rage. It fuels him, gives him what he needs to at the very least, see this case through. To see Kassel taken down one way or another.

Once Cavanaugh slides his attention back to the road, Deeks turns his body slowly, remembering the camera inside of his shirt. He hopes it's still transmitting a video signal. He hopes that the others are still back there.

He hopes that he's not about to feel the needle break through his skin again.

He hopes that he is.

In the sane and sensible part of him – that part that remains Detective Marty Deeks - he knows that everything he's going through is typical for addicts – especially ones that have just gone through detox. No matter what the brochures say, there's no such thing as a detox that leaves the patient absent his addiction. The best-case scenario is that he's clear of the actual physical chemical need (which Deeks is pretty sure that he is). The mental addiction remains.

And right now, that mental addiction is screaming at him to find a way to get the Prince Charming back into his system however he can. "Everything feels better when it's in there", the Voice of the addiction tells him. "You feel better."

The Voice is right, of course. When the drug enters his system, he always feels better, but that's all he feels. Nothing else. No passion, no joy, no hope. Nothing. Any part of him that is Marty Deeks always disappears, buried deep beneath the violent waves of the chemicals soaring through his system. Worse than that, though, is the realization that when he's under the thrall of the heroin, he just doesn't care about anyone or anything.

He knows that if he can get through this, find a way to get back home again (wherever that be), he can seek help. At this point, he doesn't care who he has to ask, he'll ask anyone if they can help control the addictive urges.

That will have to wait for later. Until after Kassel has been dealt with.

It's hard, though. It's so damned hard to think about anything beyond the peace and the quiet that he knows the Prince Charming will give him.

He allows his mind to drift for a moment, to think about just how he could manage to score himself another hit. It really wouldn't be so hard, right?

He closes his eyes against the waves of pain that seem to be coursing through him. He knows that the physical dependency is gone; this is all in his mind.

He wants to cry. This isn't the man he wants to be – an addict in desperate need of a fix. He doesn't want to be weak.

He doesn't want to be his father.

A man, who even in his best moments, was hopelessly shattered by the time Deeks was old enough to really know him. A man, whose love for his son, had been buried beneath his need for relief from his pain and fury.

* * *

_It's well over a hundred degrees outside, perhaps even hotter on the black asphalt of the East Los Angeles basketball court. Today is something of a rarity for the Brandel men – today is a day where Gordon is feeling well enough to actually act like a father for a few minutes. Better yet, he's in a great mood._

_An unusually happy mood._

_Jillian Brandel watches from the sidelines as Gordon dribbles the ball around his seven-year-old son. She watches Gordon drive and laugh as he nails his shot. _

"_Swish!" Gordon laughs, and then as he passes his son, he ruffles Marty's unruly blonde hair. "Think you can do that, Little Man?"_

"_I can do that," Marty says defiantly._

"_Well then you're going to have to get the ball from me, aren't ya, kiddo?"_

_Jillian smiles sadly as she watches. In a perfect world, this would be a wonderful childhood memory for Marty. One of thousands._

_She knows better, and she's pretty much stopped believing in a perfect world. She knows what this is - a sweet moment, but just a moment. Nothing more. _

"_Come on, Marty," Gordon laughs. "Stop me."_

_Marty tries valiantly, but Gordon when he's right (and he so very rarely is these days) is as graceful an athlete as there has ever been. Marty tries several times to strip the ball – even lunging at his fathers' knees – but Gordon evades him with an ease that is about far more than just age and skill._

_It's about keen intelligence. Something that has been sorely missing in Gordon ever since the accident. Ever since the painkillers had pretty much overtaken his life, and more importantly, his mind._

"_Gotta do better than that, Marty," Gordon says as he puts up another shot. It's a bit off the mark, though – intentionally so, Jillian thinks to herself – which causes it to bounce back. Into Marty's hands._

_Her little boy squeals with excitement and then races for the hoop. Halfway there, Gordon makes a cursory effort to get in the way._

_That's when it all goes bad._

_Again._

_Gordon slides into the way, not meaning to actually stop Marty, but rather trying to convince Marty that he's doing this on his own. When he does, though, his ankle catches, and his back hitches. Immediately, Gordon collapses to the hot pavement, his body practically shaking with pain._

_The game is over then. Just as quickly as it started. And Gordon's good mood? Nothing but a puff of smoke rising up towards the heavens, darkening as it goes._

_When Marty rushes to his father's side, Gordon roughly swats him away, his rage bleeding out. He yells at his son, says words that a dad should never say to his son. Marty, always hopelessly persistent, tries again to help his fallen dad, and receives a hard slap to the face for his efforts. _

_Quietly, Jillian tells her confused and frightened little blonde boy to go home. She assures him that she'll take care of daddy. Marty doesn't understand, all he knows – and it's something that no seven year old boy should ever know – is that he's somehow responsible for why his father is hurt. He apologizes repeatedly._

_Marty doesn't sleep much that night. Instead, he stays up, listening to the fighting. He hears doors slamming and cursing. Even curled beneath his blankets, he can feel the white-hot anger that seems to bleed down the walls of the apartment – he can practically taste the hatred between his parents._

_Around midnight, it occurs to him that he hears nothing at all._

_When he crawls out of bed late and makes his way to the front room, he sees his father sleeping on the couch, head lolled to the side, a blanket over his knees._

_Stoned out of his fucking mind._

_But quiet. Not angry. Not in pain._

_Not much of a father, though._

_And certainly not much of a man._

_Not anymore anyway._

* * *

Kensi stares down at the iPad, her mismatched eyes burning holes into the reflective touchscreen panel. On it is video of the inside of the van that Deeks is being transported in. Every now and again, when the vehicle hits a bump, the camera allows a glance of Deeks' body, but mostly it shows Cavanaugh and his driver. They're chatting back and forth, looking so casual that they might as well be talking about the score of the last Dodger game.

Suddenly, a hand slides in front of the camera. It's cut up and in bad shape, the cuticles badly damaged from obsessive chewing. Seven months ago, there's no way that this hand would have belonged to Deeks – a man who has always been neurotic about keeping his nails clean and neat.

When the fingers move to form a letter, though, Kensi's certain that it is him.

"Help me," she translates out loud, watching him sign the letters over and over.

"Is he in immediate danger?" Sam asks, hands tightening on the wheel again.

"Doesn't appear so," Callen notes, glancing down at the screen. "Seems like they're ignoring him."

"I think he's afraid we'll let him get taken again," Kensi says suddenly, her voice thick with emotion. She nearly chokes the words out.

"We won't," Sam assures her. "Eric, how much longer?"

"You're not far out now, Sam. The cabin is right up at the top of the hill. If I were you, I'd ditch the Charger and hike the rest of the way up. There's no way you guys don't get seen if you drive in."

"Which means there's no way they don't shoot Deeks before we can get to him," Callen notes grimly. "Eric, can you get us any kind of imagery on how many guys we're dealing with?"

"Sorry, no, too much foliage in the way. All the satellites are pulling is the top of the cabin and some of the surrounding area. Too many pockets, though."

"Great," Callen sighs, watching as Kensi checks her gun, ensuring that her clip is fully loaded. "Okay, have LAPD on its way to provide back-up. One way or another, Kassel isn't leaving this place a free man."

"They've already been alerted. Detective Bernhart is leading them up," Nate tells them. "And Renko is on his way to you as well. He's about twenty minutes out."

"This will be over in ten," Kensi says softly, clicking her clip back into place.

"I'll tell them to get a move on then," Eric comments.

"Is Hetty still there?" Callen queries.

"I'm here, Mr. Callen," the Ops Manager says, her voice crisp.

"Any mission directives?" he asks. His intent is clear; he asking whether or not the team should be doing whatever they can to bring Kassel in alive.

"End this," she says simply. "Bring Mr. Deeks home. Those are your directives. Everything else is up to your judgment."

"So notes." He turns to face Kensi. "You ready?"

She says nothing.

She doesn't need to.

* * *

_She's twenty-four years old, and about to go on her first mission. She's hardly alone, of course. There's Lara Macy, the cool as a cucumber team leader. There's G. Callen, the mysterious field captain. There's Sam Hanna, the muscle (and G's partner) and there's Mike Renko, the deep cover specialist._

_They're her team now._

"_You ready?" Callen asks as she exits the dressing room, wearing Kevlar and multiple holsters. This first job is a raid of a warehouse believed to be being used to traffic large amounts of cocaine between Afghanistan and the United States. For the last several weeks, Renko has been working undercover. Now it's time to strike and finish the job._

"_Course," she says. Her eyes flicker across the room, to where Macy is standing. The blonde woman is watching her with a small frown._

"_What?" Kensi asks._

"_Callen," Macy says simply._

"_Right." He steps in front of her, and adjusts the straps on her Kevlar, then lowers one of her holsters. It's ridiculously really – rookie mistakes – but she blushes. Because she doesn't make mistakes. You don't get on to a team like this if you're a moron who can't figure out how to properly work Velcro straps._

_And yet._

"_It's okay," Callen tells her. "Sam's first mission out, he tried to put his vest on backwards." It's an obvious lie – Sam was a NAVY SEAL, someone well acquainted with proper protective gear usage – but it makes her smile just the same, which was really the point._

"_Good," Macy nods. "All right, people, in and out. Let's do this quick and clean. And uh, try not to get Renko shot again. I'm sick of filling out paperwork for him."_

_Kensi lifts an eyebrow, and looks at Sam and Callen._

"_That was a joke," Callen confirms. "You can laugh."_

"_Gotcha."_

_They exit together, the three of them. On the way out, she sees Hetty, the so-called office manager, watching her. In Kensi's short time with the team (just over three weeks now, most of it spent watch and listening), she's come to realize that, though, Macy and Callen may have official leadership titles, Hetty is the puppet-master. And everyone knows it, and accepts it as such. _

"_A moment, gentlemen," she says to Sam and Callen. _

_Callen's eyebrow lifts, but a firm look from Hetty makes him back down. "Sure, we'll be out by the car, Kensi."_

_She nods. She watches the men exit the building – an inconspicuous and utterly personality-less warehouse in the middle of Santa Monica - and then turns to face Hetty. "Something wrong?"_

"_Not at all, Ms. Blye. I simply wanted to say good luck." Before Kensi can reply, Hetty reaches out and touches her arm. "And I wanted to remind you of the reason that you were brought onto this team."_

"_I'm guessing it's not my ability to put on a Kevlar vest."_

_Hetty chuckles. "No, but if it makes you feel better, even Mr. Callen has had his nervous moments from time to time. Being nervous is never a bad thing. Letting your nerves control your actions, that's where the problems come in."_

"_So what you're saying is…"_

"_What I'm saying is, you were brought onto this team because we believed that you have unique skills that will better this team. And we believed that you could own your nerves. We still believe that now. We believe in your talents and abilities, Ms. Blye. I urge you to do the same."_

"_Okay."_

"_Good. That will be all."_

"_Right." Kensi starts to leave, then stops and looks back. _

"_You're quite welcome, my Dear. Now, I believe they're waiting for you."_

_Kensi smiles in response, then turns, and follows after the guys._

* * *

Deeks doesn't even bother to pretend to be unconscious when the van stops in front of the picturesque cabin. Instead, he continues lying on the floor of the vehicle, looking up, his exhausted blue eyes locked on Cavanaugh, who is suddenly standing over him, a pistol aimed directly at his face. He shifts slightly, just to make sure the camera is fully on Cavanaugh's ugly mug.

"Jimmy," he says with a grin. "You're awake. That's good, brother. And, hey, look where we are, my man. We're home." He reaches out then and grabs Deeks by the collar of his shirt, hefting the too skinny cop to his feet. "Home sweet home."

"Home?" Deeks repeats, his mouth suddenly dry. For a moment, the Voice of the Addiction overtakes him, and he loses all touch with reality. He's confused and uncertain, unaware of what's going on or even why he's where he is.

All he knows is that he hurts.

And he doesn't want to.

"Yeah, you remember. You should anyway, you've been hanging here for awhile," Cavanaugh chuckles as he shoves Deeks out of the van.

Immediately, his senses returning to him, Deeks realizes that Cavanaugh is right.

Yes, he's been here before.

And yes, he knows this place well.

Entirely too well.

It's where, for the last six months of his life, he'd been held captive – a prisoner of a sadistic monster who had wanted more than just to destroy his body. No, Kassel had also wanted to shatter his soul.

Completely.

And he'd almost succeeded.

* * *

_Amateurs think that breaking someone is all about the shattering of bone, and the rending of flesh. Christopher Kassel has always seen it a quite a bit differently than that. For him, destroying a man entirely is about the little moments just as much as the big ones._

_Sure, there are crucial checkpoints – so to speak – such as the first broken bone and the first time the victim doesn't plead for mercy, but to really do the job well, you have to make every second of the victims' "life" a living hell._

_Kassel has gone to great lengths to make the LAPD Detective formerly known as Marty Deeks' life exactly that – hell on earth. Deeks now believes that his name really is Jimmy Reese, and that's just the beginning of it all._

_There's so much further to go._

_It starts with control. _

_He owns every movement that Deeks makes, from rolling over in his sleep to stumbling to the bathroom to pee. He makes sure that Deeks knows that he is always being watched, always being controlled. He smiles each time he sees humiliation wash over the blonde haired cop._

_And then Kassel turns up the temperature, and makes it about humiliation and guilt and remorse and pain._

_He brings in a hooker and demands that Deeks have sex with her. When the cop refuses to do so, he's beaten for it and left alone in his room for two days, fever once again raging through his broken body as he goes through painful withdrawals from the heroin. The second time Deeks declines the invitation; the woman is murdered in front of him. _

_Deeks doesn't dare to refuse a third time._

_Then Kassel forces Deeks to assist Alejandro in the interrogation of a small-time Prince Charming dealer who had been stupid enough to try to rip him off. Kassel stands by and lets Deeks almost snuff the kids' life out. In fact, he would have let him do it, but the cop stops himself at the last moment, babbling out some lame excuse about not killing a company asset._

_He nods to Deeks, and then orders Alejandro to kill the boy. Deeks watches in horror as Alejandro places a gun to the kids' forehead and fires a bullet into his brain, ending his life instantly._

_Deeks is beaten mercilessly for his failure to do as ordered. The only thing that ends the assault is him saying over and over that his name is Jimmy Reese._

_The next time, he makes Deeks be the one to fire the gun. When Deeks crumbles to the ground in horror, his reward is to be left in his room, once again absent the drug that will make all of the nightmares fade away._

_The time after that, Deeks introduces himself to the soon to be victim as Jimmy Reese, and it only takes a little bit of pressure and persuasion from Alejandro to make Deeks pull the trigger. There are no tears afterwards, just chemical peace._

_There's a point to all of this, of course. It's about more than torture and about more than breaking Deeks – though, it's certainly about both of those things as well. No, no, it's about getting him ready to kill a certain mark._

_Kensi Blye. _

_Yeah, it's all about her. _

_Because killing her will kill him. Even if he doesn't realize it at the time._

_The plan is simple; break Deeks, make him think – no, make him __believe__ - that he's Jimmy Reese, then have him murder Agent Blye. After she's dead, her blood splattered all over him, force him to recognize the truth of what he's done. Once that's done, all you have to do is hand him a loaded gun, show him how to put it to his temple, and his guilt, grief and self-hatred will do the rest._

_Simple. Not terribly eloquent. Bloody as hell._

_Beautiful._

_His sadistic plan – which had eventually (and somewhat inexplicably) been foiled by a dog and a kiss - had almost worked._

_Almost._

* * *

"He can't do this," Callen says quietly. The three of them are crouched behind bushes, watching as Cavanaugh pushes Deeks out the door of the van. They see Deeks look around, eyes wide with fear and horror.

And then they seem him fall to the ground. He's shaking, coming apart.

"We have to get to him," Kensi says, starting to rise. She takes several long steps towards her partner, needing to get to him almost more than she needs air.

"Kensi," Sam cautions, reaching out and grabbing her by the collar of her vest. He pulls her back down, using almost all of his strength to still her struggles.

"Sam, if Kassel is in there, going in now won't change that."

"We should wait for back-up," he tells her, but he's pulling his gun out.

"If we wait, Cavanaugh could kill him."

"He won't," Callen tells her. "Kassel would want to be the one to do that."

"Callen, please. He can't take any more," she pleads. "Please."

"She's right, G," Sam nods, indicating toward Deeks, who is on the ground, head in his hands, unable to stop the tremors rushing through his body. "He's done."

"All right," Callen says. He touches his ear, "Eric, tell Renko and Detective Bernhart that we're heading in now. Tell them we're probably going to need a few ambulances and a couple coroners by the time we're done."

"What else is new?" Eric replies, his voice dry.

* * *

_Her first kill just about guts her. It'd happened at the end of the Renko Warehouse Mission, just as it seemed like there would be no action at all. One of the dealers had found a rifle, fired it (badly) and then he had blasted off a few more stray rounds. It'd been enough to start up one hell of a firefight._

_She'd mostly been returning fire until she'd seen a guy slide up behind Renko, gun aimed at his head. Almost without thinking, she'd changed guns, switching from a rifle to her Sig. And then she'd fired three shots. She'd only needed one; Kirby Davis had been dead the moment her bullet had torn through his skull._

_In the end, it'd been a good shoot, and there's not a doubt that the world is a better place without Kirby Davis, but still, sitting at her desk, her fingers trembling over the keyboard of her laptop as she tries to type up her report, Kensi Blye finds that she's more troubled by what she's done than she cares to admit._

"_How's the report coming along?" Macy asks as she enters the small office area that the team has turned into a bullpen. Not for the first – or last time – she glances around and thinks that this building is all wrong for the team. Hetty says she's working on something better, but who knows when that will develop._

_For now, this is home. Cold and emotionless though it be._

"_Slowly," Kensi admits, raking her fingers through her hair. She glances around, relieved to see that Macy is absent the guys – Callen, Sam, Renko and Nate. What she's feeling right now is crazy enough, she doesn't need them adding to it._

_Not that they would do intentionally, but Sam, Callen and Renko would try to understand and Nate would try to talk, and really, she's in the mood for neither._

_Her mood and what she wants doesn't deter Macy in the least._

"_How you holding up?" she asks. _

"_I'm fine," Kensi replies quickly, the very idea of showing weakness to this woman abhorrent to her. She's put in so much work to be good at this job, gone through so much. She doesn't want Macy wondering why she's here._

_She thinks back to Hetty's words from earlier – about why she'd been chosen. She tells herself that she did the job that she'd been hired to do. She tells herself to stop acting like a silly little girl. She tells herself to toughen up. Get strong._

"_If you were fine, I'd be worried," Macy chuckles, sitting on the edge of the desk. "Your first kill isn't supposed to feel good. It's not supposed to feel right."_

"_No, really..."_

"_Kensi…"_

_She blows out air between her teeth. It's clear that Macy has no intention of just letting this drop. Finally, she grits out, "He was a terrible man."_

"_That's putting it lightly. Kirby Davis was a real son of a bitch. Or as Nate put it, he was a sociopathic loon bag."_

"_Loon bag?"_

"_Okay, you got me. Those may actually be my words not his. He babbled some other technical term. I try to block him out as often as possible," Macy replies. She's smirking slightly, an _amused_ glint in her eyes. It's fairly well know around the OSP that Macy and Nate have almost daily sparring matches. _

"_So why do I care that he's dead?"_

"_Good guys and bad guys, Kensi. It's how we feel and how we act that tells who we are. We kill because we have to, not because we want to."_

_Kensi simply nods._

"_Great, now that that's out of the way, how about we get the hell out of this drafty building and go find a place to knock back a few beers? I have a pretty good watering hole for exactly this kind of thing."_

_It's a surprising offer, and for a moment, Kensi is stunned by it. That feeling fades quickly, though as she realizes that yeah, that sounds like a hell of an idea right about now. "Yeah, sure," Kensi replies. She's still a bit anxious around this woman, but the invitation calms her considerably._

_When they get to the bar, Macy orders two shots of Vodka and two beers. She hands Kensi a shot glass, and then holds up one of her own. "To your first field mission, Agent Blye. And to a job well done."_

"_Is it okay to celebrate death?" Kensi asks, feeling very young._

"_We're not celebrating death, Kensi," Macy tells her. "We're celebrating our victories. Tonight, you made it so Kirby Davis can never hurt another person. Tonight, you gave his victims justice. And peace. I think we can drink to that."_

* * *

Cavanaugh smirks at he gazes down at Deeks, lying in the dirt, head in his hands, trembling fiercely. Cavanaugh assumes that the cops' freak-out is from withdrawal and the desperate need for a hit. He's only partially right; it's also about the horror of what happened to him inside the little cabin.

So much.

Too much.

Deeks has no idea how to come back from all of this.

At this moment in time, his body and mind weakened, he's not sure if he even wants to. All he cares about is finding a way to get peace.

Even in his state, though, he knows that there is no peace as long as Kassel lives. Which means that this only ends one way.

With someone in a body bag.

* * *

_His first kill happens almost a year into the job._

_He's just a simple beat cop at the time, working Hollywood Boulevard. He's got the night shift so he routinely gets the fun of arresting hookers and pimps and breaking up drug deals. It's messy, and ugly, but he's good at it. He knows how to work the streets, and how to turn small-timers into confidential informants. And he knows how to get everything done without ever having to draw his gun._

_All of that changes one night when a normal enough seeming domestic disturbance call turns into something far more violent. _

_He and his partner – a kid named Harrison - are called to a dinky three hundred square foot apartment thanks to complaints of screaming and yelling. _

_When they get to the apartment, and steps over mounds of debris (garbage and clothing) they meet the wife – a timid woman named Gloria James. Problem is, she's the one waving a butcher knife around, threatening to kill her husband. When they try to talk her down, she tells them that this only ends one way – with the son of a bitch who has been beating on her for years in a body bag._

_She's clearly not lying. Her face and body are covered with bruises. The husband – a nasty brute of a man named Tommy - snarls at her that she's deserved every hit he's ever given her. He's either too drunk or too high to know better, but he tells his wife right in front of the cops that she'll pay dearly for this. He tells her that when this is over, he'll "fucking kill her"._

_Deeks and Harrison stick with the playbook for issues like this. They talk calmly and rationally, they urge taking a step back. They promise that this can be resolved if she'll just put the knife down. They tell her that she'll be protected._

_It seems like it's working._

_It __is__ working._

_They get both Tommy and Gloria outside. Deeks moves off to the side to talk with the wife in semi-private, while Harrison handles the husband. Harrison's job is to arrest Tommy James for domestic violence. Everything else – including the fact that Tommy is drunk out of his mind – will be dealt with down at the station._

_Everything is going just fine until twenty-two year old Harrison fucks up badly._

_Something makes him look to his side, God only knows what. A moment later, a gunshot rings out, and there's Harrison lying on the ground, bleeding out. Tommy is above him, holding Harrison's service piece in his hand, waving it around. _

_It's out of a bad Lifetime movie what the husband says next. "You're not leaving me," he tells Gloria. "You're never leaving me." He aims the gun he stole from Deeks' partner at his wife, and squeezes the trigger._

_Deeks never hesitates. He throws the wife to the ground, rolls (he'll tell everyone later that he learned that move on TJ Hooker) and fires twice. Tommy goes down, two bullets lodged in his chest. He dies on the way to the hospital._

_Gloria is heartbroken. And relieved. And a thousand other complicated things._

_After checking on his wounded – but recovering – partner (who will resign from the LAPD after he's released from the hospital three weeks later), Deeks spends his night sitting on a surfboard in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, wondering about the quality of human life, trying desperately to figure out how a man does what that man had done to his wife. He thinks about why he became a cop. _

_He has his reasons. Some involve how he grew up. Most involve being a better man than his father. But it's still more than that. It's about tipping the scales – ensuring that there is more good in the world than bad._

_He looks at his hands, then dunks them into the ocean. They stay there until he paddles in. He doesn't want to see the blood on them._

_A few weeks later, in a special ceremony, he's given a medal for heroism. He throws it in a drawer and never looks at it again. _

_Nine months later, he's assigned to a special task force on the LAPD Robbery Division. It's fun and interesting work, but he never feels like he's making a difference – he never feels like he's tipping the scales like he needs to._

_When an opening in an Undercover Narcotics Unit becomes available, Deeks grabs at it greedily. Here, he thinks, he can make a difference. He can stop the bad guys from hurting young kids who are too stupid to know how very easily their lives can be destroyed by the poison these monsters are peddling._

_Here, he knows he can tip the scales._

_Tipping the scales is one of the main reasons (though not the only one) that he signs on to be the liaison for the NCIS OSP team a few years later._

_He never forgets Tommy and Gloria James._

* * *

The trio of NCIS agents stop in their tracks when they see Kassel exit the cabin, Alejandro trailing just a few steps behind him. Kassel's dressed unusually for him, wearing jeans and a quarter-zip fleece instead of his typical finely tailored suit. Alejandro is in jeans and a blood splattered tee-shirt.

"Kensi, Sam, around the side of the cabin. I'll take the point."

"No," she says. "I got point."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," she replies coldly, icy determination in her dark eyes. Her tone leaves no room for argument. To put it as simply as possible: Kassel is hers.

"Okay." Callen motions Sam around to the left, then slides around to the right.

Kassel, oblivious to all of this, approaches Deeks, a predatory smile on his face.

"Jimmy, I was starting to get worried about you, son."

"My name is Deeks," Marty says, looking up at him. Even going through the mental struggle he is, defiance wins out.

"Oh, look who thinks he knows who he is again? Are we going to need to start from the beginning? You know, I think I think I'd kind of like that. What about you, Alejandro? You think you could go a few more rounds with 'Detective Deeks'?"

"Sounds like fun," Alejandro smirks.

"Go to hell," Deeks growls.

The men surrounding him – Kassel, Alejandro, and Cavanaugh – all laugh.

"Awfully brave for a man we both know would gladly sell his soul back to me for one hit of the Prince Charming," Kassel chuckles. "So what do you say, Deeks? How about we just get to that? How about I have Alejandro here get you a needle and we skip all of the torture? What do you say, boy?"

Kensi doesn't give Deeks a chance to reply. She steps forward, gun out and yells, "NCIS, hands up. Everyone."

"Oh, look, you brought friends," Kassel says, his eyes flickering towards Cavanaugh. "You said there was no one following you, son."

"He's an idiot, Kassel. Like all of your men." She smiles tightly at Alejandro, and then gestures her gun at him, indicating that he should put his hands up.

"Apparently so. Agent Blye, it's so good to see you again."

"Feeling isn't mutual, Kassel. Now put your hands up or I will empty this entire clip into your face."

"Such violence. I didn't know you were capable of it."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Oh my dear, you forget, I do know what you can do. I know exactly what you can do." He leers at her then, allowing his eyes to sweep over her body.

It takes everything she has not to shiver in reaction.

"This is your last warning," she says, her eyes scanning for Sam and Callen. She sees them behind the cabin, slowly slipping out of hiding long enough to take out the armed guards who are nearby.

"I see," he says. "Well then, I think we have a problem."

"Not from where I stand."

"Oh, but we do, my dear girl. You see, my son there – and I'm sure you've figured out who he is," Kassel's eyes glide back over Cavanaugh, his gaze cold and furious. "My son has a gun pointed right at your pathetic partner. So unless you want to watch him die, you'll put down your own weapon."

"That's not how this is going," she tells him.

"Really. So you're prepared to lose him. Again?"

Kensi swallows hard.

The truth is, she's not.

She can't lose anyone else.

She simply can't.

* * *

_The rest of her life begins with the sun peaking in through her window._

_It's an unassuming beginning to the day, and at first, she thinks nothing of it. Until she realizes two things: first, it's Christmas morning, and second, she's lying alone in the bed that she usually shares with her fiancée. _

_Most people wouldn't be worried by these things. Most would simply assume that he's out front, messing with the tree, compulsively arranging and rearranging the gifts beneath it as he has been for the last several days._

_Kensi Blye isn't most people. Even at the amazingly young age of twenty-one._

_Immediately, she senses that something is wrong. She rolls over in the bed, and looks at the alarm clock next to the bed. It's early, but not too early for a former Marine to be up and at it. She tells herself that that's all this is. _

_She knows better._

_She climbs from the bed and pulls a bathrobe around her naked frame. She steps into the hallway (many years later, she'll do almost exactly this same walk looking for her partner – her instincts will have been right then as well)._

"_Jack?" she calls out._

_Silence greets her._

_She tries again. "Jack, baby? Where are you?"_

_She steps into the Living Room. It's empty. She checks the whole apartment even though she knows that there's no really point in doing so._

_He's gone._

_Throughout the day, she tries to convince herself otherwise. She tells herself that he's just out for a run, or a walk or maybe he went to see an old friend or…_

_Or maybe he really had left her on Christmas morning._

_It's just about six at night when that realization crashes down on her. The night previous, they'd made love and he'd held her in a way that he hadn't since his return from the Middle East. He'd kissed her hair, and trailed his fingers over her. He'd told her over and over how much he loved her, and how beautiful she was._

_She should have known, should have seen the signs._

_But she'd been just so happy to have him back in her arms._

_Now, that happiness has turned to hurt. And loss._

_She's so fucking sick and tired of losing everyone she loves._

_Her mother, her father, so many friends along the way, and now Jack._

_She allows herself a cry – a short and painful one – and then like the well brought up daughter of a Marine that she is, she pulls herself together and faces the reality of the situation. _

_Kind of. _

_She spends the night calling around to every hospital and every police station in the city. She's tireless and persistent. _

_She's wasting her time, and deep down, she knows it._

_She's not quite ready to accept that. It hurts too much. _

_She makes her way over to the Christmas tree, sits down in front of it, and sifts through the presents, searching for a note. She unwraps every gift from him, looking for a clue. She finds jewelry and clothing and chocolates and other desired things, but nothing telling her where he is. She re-wraps every present, wanting the tree to look just as he'd left it, in case he comes back._

_She plans for them to still have their Christmas._

_Her plans never come to fruition because Jack never comes back. Unable to look at the gifts any longer, she eventually donates almost all of them to a nearby homeless shelter. She keeps only a teddy bear dressed in military fatigues._

_Come the morning after Christmas, she files a police report. She answers a lot of uncomfortable questions, and receives a ton of skeptical looks. Everyone she talks to thinks that she's just struggling with a painful breakup. _

_She wants to tell them that they're not completely wrong, but they're far from right as well. This, well, this isn't supposed to be happening._

_She's supposed to have been strong enough to hold on to Jack. Strong enough to save him from his demons._

_She hadn't been, and now, he's gone._

_The first several weeks after he leaves pass in a blur of anxious expectation. Every time she hears a car pull up in front of the apartment, she thinks that it's Jack coming home. When she's walking the streets of San Diego, and she happens to see a tall broad shouldered man up ahead, she's certain it's him. She's even followed after the men a time or two. They're never him, though._

_The dreams are the worst of it. For the first couple of months, she dreams about him every night. Sometimes he's holding her, sometimes he's being kept from her, and sometimes, he's asking her why she couldn't be stronger for him._

_She wonders the same thing._

_Weeks turn into months and with nothing else to do and no one else to turn to, she finally returns to school. Her heart has been hopelessly shattered, and she's alone – absent friends and family - but she's still alive and she's not a weak woman. She's not going to just sit in her apartment and cry about her losses._

_She moves on with her life._

_God, she misses them. Her father. Jack. So many people._

_She enrolls in as many criminal justice classes as she can – focusing specifically on forensics. Her professors adore her. It's no surprise really; she's their star student - the top of her grade. She never comes close to failing a single class. _

_Just him._

_Her father had shown her how to fire many different kinds of guns, but she takes it a step further and enrolls in classes that teach her how to hit every mark put in front of her. She learns how to drill targets from obscene distances. She excels._

_When the recruiters from NCIS come knocking, they're far from alone. _

_She chooses NCIS for two reasons – first, it offers her the chance to maybe one day bring the men who had murdered her father to justice. Second, the person who comes to see her – a tiny woman named Henrietta Lange – intrigues her. _

_The woman says all the right things, and yet Kensi never feels for a moment as if she's being bullshitted. Still, it's what Hetty does more than what she says that convinces Kensi to sign on the dotted line for NCIS. It's a leap of faith that Hetty takes in her, really. It's something she does that no one else in the world would have done for her; first, she stops Kensi from following a man out of a bar. A man (not Jack) whose life is forever merged with her own. Second, after preventing the then furiously angry young woman from doing something that would have certainly ended horrifically, Hetty promises her that the time for all of that will come later. For now, Hetty pleads with her, focus on you. _

_"Make your father proud."_

_And so she had.  
_

_As she immerses herself in the NCIS training courses, she tries not to think about Jack. She tries to pretend that he had never existed. She tries to pretend that she had never let anyone hurt her as badly as he had hurt her._

_And above all else, she tries to pretend that she had never failed anyone as horribly as she had failed him._

_That only works if she can pretend that Jack never existed. Luckily, her new life with NCIS affords her the ability to become someone else – to disappear and to pretend that she has no real past. She moves apartments and removes every sign of him from her life. She never ever speaks of him. _

_Not until a sociopath named Talbot forces all of the feelings back to the surface. She over-relates to him and to his situation, and it makes her blind and stupid. _

_It almost costs Kensi her life._

_She tells herself that she can't allow her feelings and emotions to make her vulnerable. Never again._

_That idea works in theory, though not in practice._

_Very few things ever do._

* * *

Deeks looks up from his position on the ground. He can see Cavanaugh's gun pointed right at his face, too close to miss. If Cavanaugh fires, Deeks is a dead man and everyone on the scene knows it.

"Shoot him," he tells Kensi, his tired blue eyes flickering up to meet her furious mismatched ones.

"Who are you kidding, boy?" Kassel chuckles. "We both know she doesn't have the guts to risk your life. She's just a silly little woman."

Kensi tightens her fingers on her gun. "Maybe so, but trust me when I say, this 'silly little woman' has killed men much worse than you."

Kassel just smiles back at her, like he sees right through her bravado.

And then he says, "Kill him, Justin."

Unburdened with feelings such as remorse and guilt, Justin Cavanaugh never hesitates. In the space of a fraction of a second, he aims the gun at Deeks' head, and pulls the trigger on his gun.

A moment later, the sound of multiple gunshots cut through the air.

And then, there's nothing but smoke and confusion everywhere.

* * *

_He watches her at the range, envious and in awe. She's amazing, staring down the targets, firing bullet after bullet into them. And he's not too bad himself._

"_Deeks," she says, without turning. She fires three more bullets, burying them into the heart of the paper man._

"_Bad date?" he asks with a grin. He walks around her, checking her neck for hickeys that he knows he'll never find. Mostly, he's just trying to annoy her._

_It's clearly working by the tension in her jaw. "Nope. Great date." She fires again._

"_Bad night then?"_

"_Not talking about that with you."_

"_Really? Come on, we're adults. I think we can talk about sex."_

"_Nope."_

"_Nope you didn't have a bad night or nope…"_

"_Nope, I'm not talking about this with you."_

"_Okay." He comes around to the stall next to hers, slides on his protective glasses, move his own target into place, and then fires two shots. "But," he continues, "If you did want to, that's what partners are for."_

"_Really?" she asks, turning towards him. "__That's__ what partners are for?"_

"_Yup. Really. You know, to talk things over with."_

"_Okay. How was your night?"_

"_Fine."_

"_Just fine?"_

"_Good. I had a good night," he says, suddenly wishing he hadn't started this conversation._

"_Fantastic. So did I. Now can we move on from Sex and the City or would you like to talk about your nails as well."_

"_That's…really mean. And kind of hurtful. And…and just for the record, my nails are fine. In great shape."_

_She snorts, and turns back to the target. Two more shots and the target is pretty much obliterated._

"_You really are good," he tells her._

"_We have to be," she says simply._

"_Okay, something's bothering you, and it's not your usually abysmal love life."_

"_My love life is not abysmal."_

"_Whatever you say, Ms. St. James."_

_She rolls her eyes._

"_But seriously, what is it?" he presses again._

_She sighs, but doesn't answer._

"_Kensi…"_

"_Just…dreams," she finally admits, her voice thick with emotion. He watches as she brings the target in and replaces it with a new one. "But they're no big deal." She hits a button, and the target returns to the back of the range._

"_I'm sure they're not, but just for kicks, what were the dreams about?"_

_She shrugs._

"_Not an answer."_

"_Fine, Deeks, you want to know?" she asks, turning to face him. _

"_Yeah."_

"_People I've shot and killed. I dreamed about a whole bunch of them last night."_

"_Oh."_

"_See. I told you it was no big deal."_

"_Are you okay?" he asks her._

"_I'm fine."_

"_You've never shot someone who didn't deserve it," he tells her._

"_I know."_

"_And guilt is normal."_

"_I know."_

"_I know you do."_

"_I'm glad we're on the same page," she says, turning back to the target._

"_I've had that dream, too," he says suddenly, making her turn towards him again. _

"_You have?"_

"_Sure. A couple dozen times. It sucks, but I think it means we're human. We don't want to be killers. I don't want to be one."_

_She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then thinks better of it. Finally, she nods and simply says, "Sometimes, you don't annoy me, Deeks."_

"_Thanks. I think. Now, back to the date."_

"_Deeks."_

"_I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours."_

"_First, I really don't want to know about whatever dim-witted big-chested monosyllabic floozy you took back to your place last night."_

"_Ouch. Unnecessary foul."_

"_And second, we still aren't in an episode of Sex and the City."_

"_Which means what?"_

"_I don't kiss and tell," she smirks._

"_I don't either, but maybe I can educate you."_

"_Yeah, right."_

"_Fine. Then I guess I'll just have to educate you here instead."_

"_On the gun range?"_

"_Yup."_

"_Deeks, did you hit your head on the headboard last night?"_

"_That sounds like kissing and telling," he grins. "But no, I didn't. Though…"_

"_Stop. Please?"_

"_As you wish."_

"_Thank you." Then, "You know you can't beat me in here, right?"_

"_No one can," he admits. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to try."_

"_All right. Try away."_

"_Okay. See the trick is, you have to be the bullet."_

"_Be the bullet?" she laughs._

"_Be the bullet," he nods. "And watch it fly."_

* * *

Cavanaugh hits the ground, a bullet between his eyes, his blood splattering all over Deeks' face. And all at once, the sound of a dozen guns being fired can be heard. Alejandro is behind a an old Jeep, using it to provide cover as he pops off multiple rounds from a semi-automatic that he's somehow gotten his hands on.

"Deeks?" Kensi says, from where she's dropped down next to him. When the first shot had been fired – from far behind them (from either Sam or Callen's gun), she had leapt towards her partner, and pushed him under her. "You okay?"

"Feeling very masculine at the moment," he admits.

"Sorry, but I'm not losing you again. Try to get behind the van and stay down."

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"After Kassel. He used the distraction of his son's shooting to take off down the road. That little coward is running as fast as he can. I'm not letting him get away," she tells him. She presses Cavanaugh's gun into his hands.

"Kensi…"

"Stay here. Don't move."

"I'm going with you," Deeks says, moving to his feet.

"No way."

He reaches out and grabs her arm. "Listen to me for once, Kensi. This is as much about me as you. Maybe even more about me."

"Deeks, you're not strong enough," she snaps back, the sound of gunshots almost drowning her words out. Behind them, Sam and Callen are engaged in a gunfight with several of Kassel's men – including Alejandro.

"I'm strong enough for this," he says.

She's about to protest again when Callen drops down next to her, hunkering down behind the van. "Where's Kassel?"

"Down the road," she says. "I'm going after him."

"Good. Take Deeks."

"What?"

"Finish this. Both of you. We got these guys. Renko is coming up the road, and Detective Bernhart and his boys just arrived on the other side of the cabin. By the time you're done, so will we be."

She nods slowly. "You stay behind me," she tells her partner.

"Don't I always," he chuckles, pushing his weakened body up. He's exhausted and tired, but somehow also amazingly energized. He realizes then that he hadn't lied to Kensi; he really does have enough strength for this.

"Kensi," Callen calls out. She turns to face him. "Stay within the law. If he fires at you, take him out, but if he drops his weapon, and surrenders, you take him alive. Don't cross that line. Don't let him win."

She wants to assure the blonde team leader that she won't, but the words catch in her throat. She offers him a weak smile instead, and then, hunkered low, she leads Deeks back towards the opening to the road.

"He can't have gotten too far," she tells Deeks, her hand rested gently on his forearm. "Head up top, and let's trap him in the middle."

* * *

_They're two months into their partnership when Hetty asks Deeks to take Kensi into a Murder House with him. It's basically a big old nasty funhouse courtesy of the LAPD. Only in this funhouse, there are other cops dressed as drug dealers, rapists and serial killers. They're armed with paintball guns. The rules are simple; get through the house without suffering a debilitating hit. A shot to the arm is allowed, but anything else and the player automatically fails._

_Deeks has passed the house a handful of times, but never with a partner. They both think it'll be fun. Hetty knows better. For a single cop going through, it can be very difficult, a test of hand-eye coordination, target recognition and agility. For partners, it's all of those as well a test of cooperation and teamwork._

_They don't last five minutes._

_Afterwards, Hetty reminds them that partnership is about more than just working the same beat and having the same end goals. It has to be about mutual respect and caring. There has to be trust. And in the best of partnerships, friendship._

_Two months later, just after the events with the Russians, she lets them go into the Murder House again. There are a few tense moments, but in the end, the partners come through with flying colors._

_It's because of this that Hetty allows them to go undercover together as Jimmy Reese and Kara Barstow._

_It's because of this that they are forced to deal with a man named Christopher Kassel._

* * *

In his life, Kassel has never felt this kind of fear. Of course, he's never been this kind of hunted before. Still, he has no intention of going down without a fight. He pulls his gun from the inside of his jacket, and waves it around.

"Where are you, Agent Blye?"

"I'm right here," she says, coming out of the trees. Her feet crackle against fallen branches, twigs snapping beneath her heavy boots. "Why don't you just make this easy on everyone and just drop your weapon."

"We both know that's not going to happen, sweetheart."

"Funny how happy I am to hear you say that. Now drop your weapon, and put your hands up or I will fire."

"Then fire. Kill me. But don't think for a moment that doing so will change everything. You'll still feel me on you. In you. Tell me, can you still feel my hands touching you every time you close your eyes. Can you still taste me?"

"No," she grits out, though they both know that she's lying.

He laughs. "And what about Deeks. Do you really think that killing me will make him better? Nothing will ever make him better. He'll never be who he was. You have no idea the things I had done to him. The things I did to him. He's damaged goods now, sweetheart, nothing but a broken shell of a man."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? Then tell me, Agent Blye, where is he now? Not here with you."

She doesn't need to look around to know that what Kassel is saying appears to be correct; Deeks is nowhere to be seen. At least not with the naked eye. Behind Kassel, she can see charging up the road, but no Deeks.

"I'll tell you where he is, you stupid silly bitch. He's lying on the ground somewhere, curled in a ball, wishing like hell that he could get another hit of heroin. That's all he wants. Nothing is more important to him right now. Not even you" And then he smiles at her, showing all teeth. "And you know what? I did that to him. That's my work. And no matter what happens today, he will always carry the scars of that. He will always be an addict and you will always be my –"

Kassel never finishes the sentence before a bullet tears through his abdomen. With a short pained cry, he falls forward, hunched over. He coughs up blood as he gasps for air that he suddenly can't get to. At the very least, it appears that one of his lungs has been punctured.

Still somewhat shocked, Kensi looks up and sees Deeks standing a few feet away, atop a muddied slope. He has Cavanaugh's still smoking gun in his shaking right hand. He meets her eyes, and she thinks she sees tears there.

"Deeks," she whispers.

"He was going to shoot you," he tells her. "He was."

She simply nods her agreement.

She has no idea if Kassel really had been about to fire. She also doesn't care.

"Kensi!" she hears suddenly, a sharp cry, this one coming from Renko as he races towards her, still too far away to be able to get off a perfect shot. She snaps around, has enough time to realize that Kassel has righted himself to aim his gun at her, and then she unloads hers, pulling the trigger repeatedly.

Deeks does the same.

For about twenty seconds, all there is the sounds of bullets in the air. It merges with the gunfire still coming from the area around the cabin.

And then there's silence.

"Kensi," Renko says, coming to her side. He touches her face, repeats her name, but she's not looking at him. She's looking down.

At Kassel.

"He's dead," Renko tells her, taking her gun from her hand. And then he looks up at Deeks, and repeats himself. "He's dead."

Deeks comes down the hill slowly, steps above Kassel and looks down at the bullet-shredded corpse. "It was so quick," he says, his voice emotionless. "He didn't even suffer. That doesn't seem fair."

"No, it doesn't," Kensi agrees, reaching out to touch his arm "But it doesn't matter anymore. Renko's right; he's dead, Marty."

"Marty," Deeks repeats softly, more to himself than the others. He holds out his gun, and then suddenly, his hands start to shake. The gun falls to the soft ground. A moment later, Deeks crumbles to his knees.

For the second time in just a few days, Kensi drops down beside him, reaches for him, and pulls him close, holding him as tight as she can. She whispers into his ear, says nothing at all, tells him everything he needs to know.

Mostly, she just says repeatedly, "It's over. It's over. We're okay."

As Renko watches them cling to each other, it occurs to him that the gunfire up at the cabin has pretty much stopped. In his ear, he hears Sam and Callen talking, telling each other that they're clear. He hears Bernhart confirming the same.

The rest of battle, it seems, has ended as well.

Now all that remains is the healing.

**TBC…**


	20. Epilogue

**Author's Note: And finally, we have reached the end. I hope it satisfies. Yes, it's unabashedly Kensi/Deeks in a romantic way, but I really think they've earned it. That said, please be forewarned that the following contains adult sexual themes - though not graphic ones.  
**

**A couple of quick notes (1) As I'm sure you'll notice when you get to the end of this epilogue, everything has not been resolved and tied up with a nice neat little bow. I am planning a follow-up piece - not exactly a sequel so much as a new story that picks up on some of the hanging emotional threads as well as where K/D end this tale. That one will be a bit off from starting, though. Probably not until November. I'm gonna enjoy the start of the new season and maybe have some fun with a couple one-shots first. (2) I'm planning to eventually do a full re-edit of this piece. Don't know when exactly, but soon. **

**In the meanwhile, if you're looking for some good K/D reads, while there are many great stories on the site, might I recommend a few tremendous authors that you might have inadvertently overlooked:**

**Fictionista48 and her beyond phenomenal Human Sacrifice**

**Jessica237 and well, just about everything she writes. All exceptional pieces.  
**

**Annaliesegrace and her library of fantastic K/D fics**

**And the Queen of short, but awesomely sweet - krazykitkat**

**You can't go wrong with any of them.  
**

******My final thought - I thank you deeply and sincerely for all of the kind words - they mean the world to me. I'd love to hear what you think of the story as a whole now that it's concluded. Again, thanks.**

**-S.  
**

* * *

_He's lying on the floor of the windowless bedroom that he's being held prisoner in, sweating from every pore, bleeding from what feels like a thousand wounds. Everything burns, everything aches. He thinks that if his heart were to stop beating right now, he'd surely welcome death.  
_

"_You hurt, don't you?" Kassel says to him. It sounds like a question, but isn't actually one. Of course, he hurts. He hurts terribly. Horribly._

"_Please," Deeks whispers, his dull blue eyes staring up at the ceiling above._

"_Yes, please," Kassel chuckles. Then, bending down and leaning in, he asks, his voice as cold as ice. "Tell me, what would you give me to make everything hurt less? To make everything better? What would you do for me to give you peace?" _

* * *

Her back hits the wall next to her front door inside of her apartment with a hard thud, but neither one of them pays the sound (or the mild bruising that she's likely to have when this is all over) any attention.

All he cares about right now is that he's being allowed to touch her, and all she gives a damn about at this moment in time is that he's kissing her like there might not be a tomorrow.

Which considering all they've been through...

His hands roam freely up and down her slim body, caressing her curves that are hidden inside of the soft flannel of her red and black checkered sleep pants. One hand slips under the hem of her thin cotton ribbed tank top and settles against her skin, his thumb gently rubbing out small circles.

"Deeks…" she whispers, her voice just barely audible. She feels like she's on fire, burning up with a thousand feelings and a million emotions. One of her hands settles against the wall behind her, her fingers clawed as she tries to find something to hold onto, something to keep her up as the strength ebbs from her legs.

Abruptly, he pulls back and away from her, and gives her a questioning look. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, a slight tremor to his voice. Like maybe he's not supposed to be doing this. Like maybe he's not _allowed_ to be doing it.

She tries to respond, but words fail her, and her answer is more of a grunted whimper of protest. Behind her, her hand finally settles on the wall, her palm splayed flat.

"Is that a yes or a no?" he asks, smiling slightly. Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and after a tentative pause that seems to last forever, he pushes a dark tendril of hair away from her face, his fingers ghosting across her cheek just long enough to rub his knuckles against her suddenly noticeably warm skin.

The sensible part of her is telling her that she has absolutely got to stop this. The rest of her is asking why. After all they've been through – seven months in hell and four months in purgatory – this feels a bit like heaven.

No, that's not right (not exactly anyway). What this feels like to both of them (though neither could probably explain it as such) is some kind of forgiveness.

Forgiveness of each other for events that neither holds the other responsible for (at least not anymore). And forgiveness of themselves for situations that they both believe they could have prevented (and always will).

But, of course, because it's them, even the way they forgive each other (and themselves) can't be done in the way most people do it. Most people would forgive each other – and receive forgiveness – with simple words. Or maybe a handshake or a hug. What they're doing right now against the wall clearly goes well beyond that, and they're both completely aware of it.

"Kensi," Deeks prompts, his voice now a matching whisper. "Just tell me what you want. I'll stop if that's what you want." There's desperation in his tone, and maybe some fear as well.

He's terrified that she'll come to her senses and stop this from happening.

He's terrified that she won't.

"No, don't…please…please don't stop," she whispers, leaning up to kiss him as hard as she can. She tries to put all of the raw emotion that she's currently feeling into it. He only hesitates for the briefest of seconds before he answers the kiss in kind, touching her face with his hands as he presses his lips to hers.

* * *

"_Are you two all right?" Callen asks as he and Sam come racing down the road, both of them still clutching their weapons. Callen has bright red blood streaking down his face from a cut across his jawbone, but otherwise looks fine. Sam, who seems like he's about to take out the bushes if they happen to be stupid enough to look at him the wrong way, is covered in dirt and grime, but appears to be uninjured._

_When neither Kensi nor Deeks replies, Renko steps forward. "Physically, I think they're both fine, though Detective Deeks looks like he could stand a trip to the hospital to have the back of his head checked out. And actually, G, so do you."_

"_They both got rung pretty hard," Sam agrees, taking a step towards Callen. He leans in as if to press his finger to the bloodied gash._

"_It's a scrape," Callen replies with a glare._

"_Uh huh. We clearly have a different idea of what the word scrape means."_

"_Clearly," Callen agrees, moving away from Sam. Noticing that the two junior members of his team still haven't spoken up, he steps beside Kensi, and touches her forearm. "You good?"_

_She completely (and without any conscious thought) overreacts to his touch, her spine snapping her into a posture so tight and straight that the Queen of England herself would be jealous._

"_Kensi?" Sam says, worry peppering his tone, and darkening his eyes._

_"I..." is about all she can manage.  
_

"_We're fine," Deeks answers finally, for both of them. "We're just…dealing with everything still." His fingers trail up to the back of his skull. He winces as he touches a round lump there, a gift from Kassel's now very dead son.  
_

_That brings Kensi back to her senses. "Sam's right; you need to be checked out." Then, finally noticing the cut on Callen's jaw, she frowns. "You, too."_

"_See?" Sam says, smiling a bit now that he knows that Deeks and Kensi appear to be more or less okay – at least physically (Deeks' may have a head injury, but it's likely little more than a minor concussion at worst). _

_Certainly, mentally speaking, these two still have a thousand hurdles in front of them, but with Kassel finally dead (really dead by the look of his bullet destroyed corpse), the giant metaphorical Berlin Wall preventing their recoveries has been brought down. _

_Hopefully that means that they now have the ability to heal without fear._

"_Fine," Deeks sighs. "I'll go get checked out."_

"_Good," Callen replies. "Renko, what about…"_

"_The ambulance? It'll be here in a minute or so," Renko notes. Then, gesturing up the hill. "What happened up there? And how did Kassel get down here?"_

"_Kassel's kid tried to shoot Deeks, G shot him first, and then everyone started shooting," Sam replies, his eyes back on the cut on Callen's face._

"_Kassel used the distraction and the smoke to try to make a run for it," Kensi adds. "Deeks and I followed after him. And well you saw the rest."_

"_Right."_

_Deeks turns to Callen. "What about Alejandro?" He shivers slightly when he says Alejandro's name. It's no surprise really; the thug had been his chief torturer. _

"_Also dead," Callen assures him. He looks down at Kassel's bloodied body on the ground. "Looks like at least ten shots. Maybe more?"_

"_Maybe less," Deeks offers, his voice flat. Then, almost robotically, he adds, "He looked like he was about to shoot Kensi. I shot him first."_

"_Yes, you did," Sam agrees, with a slight frown. No one is going to cry for Kassel or waste any time worrying about due process in regards to him, but Sam is none too thrilled with the idea of his two teammates adding more trauma to the already overwhelming amount that each of them is currently carrying around with them._

"_I saw it," Renko puts in. "Kassel was definitely about to shoot her. They both reacted in kind. It was a good shoot." His eyes drift past Kensi's, and he offers her a small smile. The kind meant to say, "I got your backs." _

_After everything that she and Deeks have been through, she appreciates the gesture more than he could ever know._

_Callen nods. "Then that's that." He points down the road. "And just in time; looks like the ambulance is here."_

* * *

Deeks finally has the sense enough to close the front door of her apartment (using his foot to slam it shut). Not that anyone is likely to venture by at this late hour, but if they did right about now, they'd be getting one hell of a show.

Without pulling his mouth away from hers, his hands slide back up and under her ribbed tank-top, his palms settling against her tensed up abs. He feels muscles pulsing beneath his fingers, constricting as he trails them over her smooth skin.

He can't help but chuckle a bit when he feels her back arch sharply as she reacts to his touch. Removing his mouth from hers (and receiving a grunted protest in response) he presses it instead against her ear, and whispers, "Maybe we should slow this down a bit? You know, order some pizza and talk."

He's just playing with her now, and they both know it.

Normally, she might even play along some, fire back a few barbs of her own.

In a more sane moment, she might even take a second to realize that this Deeks is a lot like the Deeks from before the Kassel mission – the one who'd been unable to be serious for even a moment. The frustrating and infuriating one.

Were his hands not continuing to draw slow circles on her skin, she might allow for a smile of relief at getting to see the Deeks of old (even if only for a few moments – as everyone keeps telling them both, recovery takes time. No one gets better in a few days, weeks or months).

Right now, though, she wants to hurt him.

Not really, of course (though, the idea of punching him somewhere does flash momentarily through the back of her mind), but if he doesn't return his mouth to hers, she thinks that maybe she's going to completely lose her mind.

And then she'll be the one slamming him against walls.

Which, actually, maybe isn't that bad of an idea. Not if he's going to play around anyway. Maybe, it's just best to take control right now, she thinks to herself.

"Pepperoni, maybe some olives," he suggests as one of his hands slips down and plays with the drawstring on her sleep pants. "Mushrooms. Anchovies."

"Shut up, Deeks," she tells him.

"There's my Kensi," he chuckles. "Wouldn't be right if you didn't tell me to shut up at least once tonight." His blue eyes seem to dance in a way that they haven't in a very long time.

"Uh huh. Well since you like hearing me say that so much, I'll say it again; shut up, Deeks."

"But then what will I do with my mouth?" he asks with a rather infuriating grin.

It's utterly cheesy, and she just can't let it pass no matter how much she'd like to in order to get back to their prior activities. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

She rolls her eyes. "Men." And then with that, she reaches up, puts a hand on each of his shoulders, and does exactly what she'd been thinking about doing; she pushes him (well, really she more slams him) against the wall. "Just shut up, and let me handle things, okay?"

* * *

_It's about five days after the shoot-out at the cabin, and a rather fierce rainstorm is pounding the San Fernando Valley, flooding the broken streets and turning the already obnoxious Los Angeles highway system into an utter nightmare._

_Right now, though, NCIS Special Agent Kensi Blye isn't terribly concerned with the highways. At this moment, she's wondering what the hell she was thinking when she had agreed to this._

_This, being of course, accompanying Deeks to Christopher Kassel's funeral._

_They're standing together, under an umbrella that he's holding, watching from a discreet distance as a young man in an expensive suit – one of Kassel's other sons (a kid who lives in New York and trades on Wall Street) offers a quick eulogy for a father that had apparently "always supported his dreams". Another one of his kids promises to miss Kassel forever.  
_

_Nothing is said about the fact that Kassel was a cold-blooded sadistic monster._

"_You okay?" Deeks asks her when he sees her shiver._

"_Yeah, just cold," she replies. She's wearing a leather jacket that is plenty warm, but still, her skin feels suddenly very clammy. _

"_Almost over," he tells her, frowning slightly. It's strange to him that he seems far less affected by this than she is. It's bizarre to him that if he's truthful with himself, he's not really feeling much of anything right now._

_Neither anger nor relief._

_Nothing._

"_Yeah," she replies even though there was really no need to say anything at all. Perhaps it's the awkwardness of the moment that makes her choose to fill the air with sound. Perhaps it's the discomfort of it all._

_She knows why they're here; what they both need to see. They know for a fact that Kassel is dead (Deeks has even gone page by page on the initial autopsy report, viewing the pictures for an almost disturbingly long amount of time), but until they see his mahogany casket get lowered into the dirt, it still won't be real._

_It's at that moment that the small and unspectacular ceremony (certainly not what a man as arrogant and grandiose at Kassel would have ever wanted or expected) ends. Slowly, almost awkwardly, the family walks away from the casket, towards large expensive limos parked on the street._

_Deeks and Kensi remain._

_Waiting. Watching. Just barely breathing._

_Both shivering now._

_They wait until the limos peel away from the street and then they both walk – side by side – over to the casket._

_Standing over it, Deeks has his first flash of emotion._

_The only word for it is rage._

_For the briefest of moments, Deeks has the impulse to kick the casket. Do it some kind of harm. It seems ridiculously wrong that this monster be headed off into the afterlife in an obscenely expensive coffin paid for by drugs used to destroy innocent lives._

_Maybe Kensi sees the glint of madness in his eyes. Maybe she just knows what he's thinking. Either way, she reacts by reaching out and taking his hand. She presses her fingers against his, just about forces him to take her hand in return. He looks up at her, and she offers a small smile._

_He returns it, then turns to the cemetery employee that has come over to them. They'd spoken to him a few hours earlier. He knows what they want – what they need. "Now?" he asks, his voice a bit rough from thirty years of cigarettes._

"_Now," Deeks says. He feels Kensi squeeze his hand. He responds in kind. He knows they both wish the same thing; that they didn't need the other to be there, practically holding each other up. _

_For these two, both completely independent spirits who have always managed to survive on their own, it's a bit frightening for them to realize just how much they need each other right now. _

_That neither of them dares to pull away from the contact even knowing what it means says everything._

"_You got it," the worker says as he steps away from them._

_Minutes later, and in complete silence, the two partners watch as Kassel's casket is lowered into the ground. _

_When it's done, Kensi turns to him. "You ready to get the hell out of this rain?"_

"_Yeah. Thanks."_

"_I needed to be here, too," she tells him, though that's only partially true. She never would have come up with this idea on her own. She'd been perfectly content to assume the book closed on Kassel. Just the same, when he'd asked her to accompany him, she'd understood his need to see Kassel lowered into the cold hard ground – just another dead body in a cemetery of thousands._

"_I know," he answers. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he reaches out and touches her face, his fingers lightly grazing her cheek. Surprised, she inhales sharply at the contact. Before she can say or ask anything, he adds, "Still, thank you just the same."_

_She has no words for that. For a moment longer, none are needed. They just stare at each other, water dripping down their faces._

_It's the cemetery worker who finally brings them back to their senses. "You two need anything?" He's watching them with curiosity, but he also seems uncomfortable, like their intensity unsettles him._

_Well it should, Kensi thinks to herself. It sure as hell unsettles her._

"_No," Deeks answers. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash and hands it over. "We're good."_

"_Great," the guy says, and then hustles away. From a safe distance, he watches as the two partners leave the cemetery._

_He notices that there appears to be a small distance between them now._

_Small, but yeah, certainly noticeable for sure._

* * *

His hands are rough against her bare skin, a dramatic difference from the last time he touched her like this. She's pretty sure that she can feels long raised lines on his palms – scars that didn't used to be there. She doesn't have long to dwell on these new marks before he's once again pressing his lips against her.

Before she can get terribly used to the kissing again, though, he pulls away and instead lowers his face down to nuzzle against her neck, smiling a bit when he hears her inhale sharply, her breath coming out in the form of a hissing sound.

She feels the scratch of his beard against her suddenly sensitive flesh, and for a moment, she loses all touch with reality.

For a moment, she might as well be flying. Or drowning. Or both.

She moans and digs her nails into his back. His only reaction is a small hitch, a tiny tightening of his muscles. She hears him say something, but he might as well be speaking another language. Her brain refuses to decipher what she hears.

It doesn't matter anyway.

All that matters is him and this.

Unable to do much else – including think or speak, she closes her eyes and allows his touch to overwhelm her senses.

It does.

Completely.

* * *

_It's about two weeks after Kassel's death when Hetty stands next to him on the porch of her house. "Mr. Deeks," she says softly, following his eyes towards the setting sun. The sky is smeared with oranges and reds and yellows._

"_Hetty," he answers, not even bothering to look at her._

"_Are you all right?"_

_He shrugs. Then, because he's mildly curious, he asks, "Why?"_

"_You left last night."_

_He turns to look at her, and for a moment, she thinks that maybe he's going to try to lie to her. Maybe it's her look, though, that stops him. The one that simply says to him, "I know where you were. I know what you tried to do. I know."_

_He sighs._

"_Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks._

"_Yes."_

"_Did you…"_

"_Did I inject myself with heroin last night, Hetty? Is that what you're asking?" he replies with a snort of disgust. He shakes his head._

"_Mr. Deeks?"_

"_No, Hetty, I didn't. But not because I didn't want to. But you already know that don't you. After all, you're having me followed every time I leave the house."_

"_I'm not," she tells him, just a hint of indignation in her tone. "I didn't ask Mr. Callen to follow you."_

"_Really. So he chose to do that on his own?"_

"_He did."_

"_Why? They can't stand me. They never could."_

"_Rubbish, Mr. Deeks, and you know it. Every man – and woman – on this team considers you family. Mr. Callen followed you because he was concerned for you. And rightfully so. Clearly."_

"_Clearly," Deeks repeats bitterly. Then, "What do you want from me, Hetty?"_

"_I want you to realize that you have friends here. We all care about you. Me, Mr. Hanna, Mr. Callen and Mr. Beal. And most certainly, Ms. Blye."_

_He shakes his head as if to deny her words._

"_Have you spoken to her since she moved to her new apartment?"_

"_No."_

"_Why not?"_

"_What's there to say?"_

"_I would think a lot."_

"_Shouldn't she be starting the conversation?"_

"_Why? Because you blame her for what happened?"_

_He looks away, back towards the sky. It's weird how quickly things had gotten uncomfortable and awkward between he and Kensi after the funeral. It was like the closeness that had come from the need for vengeance had dissipated only to be replaced by the cold separation of guilt and anger._

_When she'd left Hetty's house a week earlier, he'd been pretty sure that he'd seen smoke in her wake. She'd been out the door as quickly as she could, eager to get away from the suffocating emotion that had been overwhelming them ever since they're returned from the cemetery._

"_You do," Hetty says simply. "And it's understandable."_

"_Is it? I don't want to blame her," he replies quietly. "And I didn't…but every time I wake up, and I feel…I…it feels like someone…" he stops and runs his hands through his hair._

"_It feels like someone should be to blame for all of this," Hetty finishes for him._

_All he can do is nod. He's horrified by his own thoughts. _

_He also recognizes them as ones that his father used to have. _

_And that, too, horrifies him._

_His father had been horribly hurt in a car accident, and yet he'd spent the rest of his life blaming everyone, but the person responsible (who had been killed in the accident) for his pain. _

_His wife, once so beloved, had become little more than a punching bag to him. She'd gone from being his light to being a reminder of what he'd had before the accident. What once had been sweet had turned horribly bitter._

_It seems to Marty Deeks that history is trying to repeat itself._

"_We believed you dead," Hetty tells him. _

"_I wasn't," he says softly. _

"_And you're not now," she tells him. "But if you continue on this path, if you keep going out looking for drugs, then eventually, there will come a time when no one will be around to stop you." She pauses for effect, then adds, "You worked narcotics, Mr. Deeks, you know the odds. You know how it always ends."_

"_Yeah. One day I'll shoot up and the next thing I know, I'll be waking up in hell."_

_She frowns. "You're a good man, Mr. Deeks."_

"_Am I? Those women Kassel and Alejandro brought in, I keep telling myself that they were paid prostitutes, but what if they weren't? What if they were victims just like me – or Kensi. What if they were forced to pretend to that they were prostitutes? How do I know that I didn't…"_

_He can't finish the sentence. His hand goes back into his hair and stays there. He's shaking now, the weight of all of his guilt and horror collapsing down upon him, overwhelming him. Hetty thinks that she sees a tear trace its way down his cheek. He makes no motion to brush it away._

"_You were forced to do what you did," she tells him. "Every act you committed was done under duress." _

"_What about the ones I did just so that they would give me more heroin? What about those acts? How do I justify those ones?"_

"_Duress need not be at the point of a sword, Mr. Deeks. They'd conditioned you to expect a beating anytime you disobeyed and a reward of heroin for good behavior. The heroin made the pain less."_

"_I sound like a dog."_

"_You never treated your dog like that."_

"_No, I just nearly killed him when he tried to stop me from me murdering Kensi. That's much better, you're right."_

_She gives him a hard look, one that tells him that she won't be pushed off by his bitter sarcasm. Deep down, he feels a flash of relief at this. It's nice to know that there's at least one person in the world who won't give up on him._

"_You have got to stop blaming yourself for what happened, Mr. Deeks. And you've got to stop blaming her as well. Believe me, she's doing enough of that for both of you."_

_He shakes his head. "I don't…that's not what I want."_

"_You're not sure what you want."_

"_No," he admits._

"_Let me help you then."_

"_How?"_

"_Just ask."_

_He tilts his head. "I don't…"_

"_Yes, you do, Mr. Deeks. You know that the first step in getting help is asking for it. I can't help you – she can't help you – unless you're ready to be helped."_

"_I don't want to be this," he says. "I don't want to be him."_

"_I know."_

_He looks at her, and this time, she's certain she sees tears. "Help me," he whispers. "Please."_

_It occurs to him distantly that he'd begged Kassel please many a time. Those pleas had been used against him in horrific ways. He can only pray that this show of weakness won't be quite as damning._

_She nods slowly. "Marty," she says. "I will do everything in my power to get you through this. We all will. And that's the first step for you."_

"_What?"_

"_Ms. Blye."_

"_I…I don't understand."_

" _I think you do. I think you know that you two are assuredly stronger together than you are apart. And you both need to heal. You might think that it makes sense to do this apart, to focus on yourselves first, and perhaps, for anyone else, it would. But you two both went through this. Kassel hurt her – maybe not quite as badly – but just the same. He took something from her that she has no clue how to get back. She won't even admit it was taken."_

"_You want me to help her?"_

"_When you're ready, I think you're the only one who can just as I think she's the only one who can really help you heal. The rest of us can be there, and we will be – every step of the way – but you two need each other."_

_He says nothing for a long moment, and then, quietly, " You really I think can make her admit what he did to her?"_

"_Not yet. She's far from ready to face that loss of control yet. To be honest, Mr. Deeks, she may never be ready. But she is ready to heal as much as she is capable of. What she can't deal with, she'll box up. Like she's boxed up the pain she still feels over her father."_

"_So she's saying she's better at dealing with all of this than I am."_

"_In her own way, I suppose. Ms. Blye deals with her pain by making herself tougher and throwing herself into the job. It may not always be the healthiest way, but it usually works. Your coping mechanism is humor, but that's not going to help you through this one because there's nothing funny about what you've gone through. You can't make people laugh through it."_

"_No," he confesses. "And I'm not sure I even want to try."_

"_Which means that you're going to have to deal with at least some of the feelings you have before you're going to be able to return to yourself."_

_"What does that have to do with her?"_

"_Whether you admit it or not, many of your feelings are about Ms. Blye. You may have anger over her not coming for you, but you also have guilt over what you believe you let happen to her."_

"_I…"_

_She holds up her hand. "It doesn't matter. All that does is that you two take this on together."_

"_I'm not sure we're going to be partners again," he says._

_She lifts an eyebrow. "You're not sure you're coming back to NCIS?"_

"_You really think anyone would clear me on a psych eval?" Then he laughs. "Well, maybe the guy who cleared Kensi. She obviously paid him off."_

_Hetty chuckles. "Ms. Blye can be quick persuasive, yes, but I assure you, Doctor Crosby wasn't in any way snowed by her. He released her to active duty because he believed that she was ready to contribute again."_

"_And what if I'm not? Ever able to contribute again. I'm not…I don't want to be anyone else, but me. And that's the job, right? That's what I've always been good at. I'm the one they always send in to do deep cover because I'm good at it. If I'm not that anymore, if I can't do the job…then no, I'm probably not coming back."_

"_Time changes everything," Hetty tells him. "And we can worry about all of that at a later time. For now, you are on medical leave with the LAPD. I'm not filling your position as an NCIS liaison, and because I created the position, there's no pressure to provide a replacement as of now. Which means…"_

"_I can take all the time I need, right?"_

"_Right."_

"_Okay. Fine. So what do I do? Do I go to see her?"_

"_No. I'm going to have her come here. And take you to your first meeting."_

_It takes him a moment, but then he gets it. "NA?"_

"_Narcotics Anonymous," she confirms._

"_Never thought it'd be me."_

"_There's no shame in it."_

"_I know. I just…I did everything I could not to be like him."_

"_And you're not like him, Mr. Deeks. Your father was in pain, and did nothing to stop it. He lashed out and hurt everyone around him. He lost everyone. You have the power and ability to not allow that to be what happens to you."_

"_Okay, okay, I get it. I'll go."_

_She smiles at him. "Good. Now come inside. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes." With that, she heads back into her house._

_He stays a moment longer, watching the sun as it disappears. Once it's gone, he turns and follows after her._

* * *

It's not until he's pushing her deeper into her apartment that he notices that she still hasn't gotten herself a couch. There's a recliner in the corner and two more soft chairs off to the side, but nothing resembling even so much as a love seat.

He almost asks her about it, but then remembers where Kassel had done what he' done to her.

Some wounds, he knows, never really heal. Some become scars that can always be seen if you just look hard enough.

That, he knows from experience.

"Deeks," she mutters, and that's when he realizes that he's stopped kissing her. His arms are still around her, and one of his hands is rested against the skin of her back, but otherwise, he appears to be staring off into space.

"Sorry," he says, and then tells a quick little lie. "I just realized I don't know which way it is to your new bedroom."

"You knew the way to my old bedroom?" she asks.

He laughs and then answers her with a maddening grin. "Maybe."

"That's kind of creepy."

"Says the woman who has her hand on my ass. Not that I'm objecting, mind you."

She shakes her head. "You really are an idiot sometimes."

"Sometimes." A flicker of doubt crosses his face. Not for the first time, he wonders if what's happening between them is real or just the byproduct of all the guilt and pain that they've been put through.

Would they – as Kensi and Deeks - be this close to making love to each other if not for what Kassel had done to them?

No, probably not.

But, he reasons, what's done is done. The question is, is there something to build on now? Should they be going forward or is this a recipe for certain disaster?

"And sometimes you're a hell of a guy, Deeks," she says, pulling him out of his thoughts. She's standing next to him again, her hands flat against his cotton-covered chest. He's wearing just a thin white tee so he can feel the warmth of her palms through the fabric. She's practically burning hot right now.

He wants to ask her if she's sure – sure about him, sure about this – but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he reaches out and cups her cheek. He feels her slide her hand over his, and then turn them both towards her mouth. A second later, he inhales sharply when he feels her lips press against his palm.

When she moves her mouth away, she whispers, "My bedroom is the first room on the left."

* * *

_It's almost ten at night when she pulls her silver Cadillac SRX up to the old Catholic church in North Hollywood. She gets out of the car first, but doesn't move past the open door of it. Instead, she looks up at the night sky, taking in the soft velvet blanket of stars above. _

_She pretends not to notice that he's still sitting in the passenger seat, not moving. _

_She'd been surprised when he'd called a few hours earlier. After not having spoken to him for almost a week, she hadn't been expecting him to be the one to reach out. She'd figured that she'd have to be the one to go to him. And that made sense, of course, because she sees herself as the one owing him._

_She should have looked for him more. She never should have given up._

_She closes her eyes against the thoughts. What's done is done, she tells herself. He's home now and that's all that matters. That and getting him help. Callen had told her what he'd stopped. That, unfortunately, hadn't surprised her. Drug addicts rarely want to be an addict, but that doesn't stop them from being unable to handle the impulses. Add in a whole lot of trauma, and you have a rather violent perfect storm for relapse on your hands._

_She waits almost five minutes before finally peering into the SRX, and softly saying, "Are you ready to do this?"_

"_No," he admits, his fingers drumming anxiously against the denim of his jeans. _

"_It's okay. It'll be okay," she tells him, and not necessarily because she believes that, but because she knows that that's what he needs to hear right now._

"_I don't want to be this, Kensi," he tells her. He rubs his hands together, then brings one of his palms up to his bearded face, and scratches absently at it._

"_I know," she replies. "But there's nothing we can do about that. All we can do is make sure he doesn't control anymore of your life."_

"_He's dead," Deeks reminds her with a humorless chuckle. And then just because he needs to hear the words again, he repeats, "He's dead."_

_She doesn't answer. She knows he's stalling. She understands why, and before they'd left Hetty's house to come here, she'd promised herself that no matter what, she wouldn't push. He needs to do this on his own time, she tells herself. _

_He has to face his demons on his own._

_She tells herself that he won't be alone; she'll be there every step of the way. Still, this is his recovery not hers. Which means that he has to take control of it._

"_How about we go get us a late night breakfast over at Denny's instead," he suggests with what he hopes is a light tone. "I love their bacon."_

"_Their bacon tastes like rubber," she answers, looking back up at the stars. Her eyes scan the constellations. Distantly, she remembers sitting with Deeks in front of the apartment that they had shared as Jimmy and Kara. She'd been slightly inebriated that evening, and they'd both been enjoying the quiet success of a first contact with Christopher Kassel. A man who they'd believed to be a simple drug kingpin who needed to be brought down._

_They'd had no idea then that it would be Kassel who would bring them down first._

"_Right," he murmurs. He slowly gets out of the car, shutting the door behind him. "You know," he says, "If I walk into that church, and say those words, there's no going back, right? It means everything is real."_

"_Everything is already real, Deeks. We can't just pretend like it never happened."_

"_Aren't you? Pretending, I mean?"_

_She turns to look at him, her face an emotionless mask. "I'm not pretending about anything. He didn't hurt me nearly as bad as he hurt you. I'm fine."_

"_Right. Fine." For a moment, it looks like he's going to let it go, but then, if he did that, well then he wouldn't be Deeks (and she supposes it's good that at least some of him is still around right now – even if it rather irritates her). "So what Kassel did to you at the apartment, you're totally over that, right?"_

"_I'm over it," she agrees, her voice tight and annoyed._

"_You really are an amazing woman," he tells her, his blue eyes challenging her. "You can take down multiple bad guys without blinking, get nailed by a moving car, and oh, your best trick yet, you can get over a sexual assault without help." _

"_Deeks," she warns. _

"_Am I pushing too hard?" he asks. "Am I saying something that you don't want to hear? Is that it, Kensi?"_

"_No," she retorts. "What you're doing is stalling for time. Now pull yourself together and get your ass inside that church."_

_The two partners exchange icy glares, both of them daring the other to continue the argument. It's strange to feel this gulf between them. It's not like it was when they first started working together. That distance – that distrust – was borne of lack of knowledge and understanding about the other. This one comes from perhaps knowing what the other is going through all too well._

_This distance is the kind that can only come from having shared the same hell._

"_Fine," he says, striding away from the car, towards the church. He's both relieved and disappointed when he realizes that she's following him. Relieved because her being there ensures he'll actually walk into the Narcotics Anonymous meeting being held in the church. Disappointed because right now, being in that meeting is just about the last place on earth that he wants to be._

_She stays close to him, trailing just a few feet behind. When he enters the small room where a crowd of maybe fifty people – mostly cops - are gathered, she's right behind him. They take seats in the back._

_For most of the meeting, they just listen. _

_She doesn't tell him when it's time for him to talk. She doesn't need to; he knows. He's been in these meetings before, though always as moral support for someone else. It guts him that now he's the one he needs the support._

_And yet he does._

_As angry and frustrated as he is with his partner, he's glad she's here._

_He gets up in front of the group, and pools all of his courage together. He tries not to think about how stupidly clichéd this whole scene is. He tries not to feel the rage that forms every time he thinks about how none of this was his choice._

_He never wanted to use heroin. He never chose to._

_He knows that dwelling on that now will do him no good, but perhaps he's not yet ready to be mature and sensible about this. He's not quite at the pragmatic stage yet – not like she appears to be._

_Of course, Kensi Blye lives in the pragmatic stage. She's good at rationalizing and compartmentalizing. She's fantastic at sweeping emotions and feelings under the rug, and calling her injuries and traumas all just part of the job._

_He envies her that._

_And yet even in his state, Deeks knows that her way won't save her forever. One day, eventually, she's going to crack under the weight of her nightmares._

_One day, she's going to lose complete control, and then all hell will break loose._

_He wants to be there when that happens._

_He wants to be as far away as is humanly possible._

_He meets her eyes, and once again, she's challenging him. She's daring him to take the step forward that she's not able to take. _

_He inhales, exhales, and then, in a cracking voice says, "Hi, everyone. My…uh…my name is Marty. And, um, I'm a drug addict."_

* * *

They're laying on her queen sized bed now, both of them still dressed. She's slightly beneath him, her arms wrapped his torso, pulling him towards her. He's trying to be careful not to push his weight on to her, but she's making it difficult.

It's like she wants there to be no distance between them at all.

"Kensi," he whispers, his face buried against her neck. He can smell her deodorant and the light perfume she's wearing. It's subtle and unassuming.

"Mm," she replies as she trails her nails across his back. Then, her voice husky with emotion, she says, "Take your shirt off."

He leans up and does as told, stripping away his tee. He drops it to the floor, and then looks down at her. He's straddling her now, gazing down at her as she lies against an overstuffed pillow, her dark hair fanned out.

"Kensi," he says again, uncertainty in his voice now. He knows that he looks much differently than he had the last time they'd done this. Then, he'd been muscular and tanned, his body unscarred and unmarked.

Now, even four months after Kassel's death, he's still not quite back to his old self yet. He knows how he looks. He knows that right now, he's absolutely nothing special at all. Too thin, too pale, lacking muscle and covered in scars. Perhaps the best word of all would be ugly. Yeah, that fits, he thinks.

She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she smiles up at him, almost lazily, and then one of her hands drifts up and touches his bare skin.

"What?" he says, because she's making him feel a bit uncomfortable. It's a strange feeling for him. Before all of this had happened, one of the very few things that he'd been absolutely sure about had been his ability in the bedroom.

Nowadays, there's very little he's sure about.

Except that he's exactly where he wants to be. Right here. Right now.

With her.

"You are beautiful," she whispers, and he feels his breath catch in his chest. He looks down at her with amazement and bewilderment. Before he can respond – and he's not terribly sure that he could or would have – she leans up, wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him back down to her and kisses him.

A moment later, she's turned him over, and this time, she's straddling him, still kissing him, her hands now flat against his chest.

Suddenly feeling bold – and a bit lightheaded - he slides his hands under the back of her tank. He starts to yank it upwards, over her head. In response, she sits up, grabs the shirt and finishes the job for him.

His eyes sweep over her – now naked to the waist. He drinks her in like a thirsty man staring at water after several days in the desert. He's seen her before – this will be their third time together – and yet she's never looked more beautiful to him than she does at this moment.

He leans up to kiss her, but before his lips can meet hers, she puts her fingers in the way. He feels his heart drop.

"Deeks," she says. "We need to be sure."

He blinks, and then, because as of late, the old him has been surfacing more and more, he says, "Don't you think we should have figured that out before we were both shirtless?"

She laughs. "Yes. But here we are."

"With you on top of me."

She smirks. "That seems appropriate at least."

"Uh huh." He reaches up and pushes hair out of her face. He's trying not to stare at her chest, though it's difficult for sure. She's a stunning woman – every part of her. And right now, she's sitting on him, testing him for sure. "Okay," he says. "Then I suppose the question is, are you sure?"

"Are you?" she asks. "You know what this means. This isn't happening because we're freaked out, right? This is happening because…"

"It's happening because we want it to," he tells her. "I want it to." He meets her eyes, hoping to see the same feelings he has for her reflected back in her dark mismatched orbs. "Do...do you?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I do. But, if we do this…can we still be partners?"

He shrugs beneath her. "I don't know. I still don't know if I'm coming back. I'm not sure they'll ever clear me."

"They will."

"Everything is different now. I'm not sure I can do the job anymore."

"Then you don't come back and this thing between us is actually easier," she replies, tracing a finger over his lips. "As easy as we can ever be, I mean."

"And if I do come back?" he asks because somehow, the idea of not working beside her burns at him. If he had to, he could settle for just seeing her every night, but he knows deep down that he wants more than that.

"We can be professional. We can make it work."

"You really think Hetty would let us pair up again?"

"You really think just because Sam and Callen are straight that they aren't as hopelessly compromised as we are when it comes to each other?" Kensi replies.

"Point taken."

"Good."

"So was that it? Was that the talk? Are we both sure now?"

"I am if you are," she replies, her fingers trailing down to the buckle of his belt. She starts undoing it, pulling the leather straps loose.

He laughs. "Apparently so."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Well don't let me talk you into something you're not interested in," she says dryly.

"Interested in? Are you kidding me?"

"Right. You're still a man." And then she leans down and kisses him again.

There are no further words after that.

* * *

_The Narcotics Anonymous certainly meetings help, but they're not enough. They give him an outlet for the maddening urges, but not for the pain. For that, he's been sent to see Kensi's shrink, Doctor Crosby._

_It's a Tuesday about six weeks after Kassel's death when Kensi drives him to the office. She walks him into the lobby, makes the introductions, and then she tries to get the hell out of Dodge._

_Dr. Crosby has a totally different idea in mind._

"_Why don't you stay?" he suggests to her._

"_That's okay," she dismisses. "This is for you and Deeks."_

"_I don't think Mr. Deeks would mind."_

"_No, not at all," Deeks replies, mostly because he's not terribly keen on being left alone with the shrink. It's been hard enough opening up to the strangers at the NA meeting, but he's managed because at least there, he's been able to leave most of the details fairly vague. There, it's been about the urges and not necessarily the feelings. _

_This, he knows, will be quite different._

"_Great. Then why don't you two come into my office?"_

"_I really have things to do," Kensi tries again, but everyone knows she's lying._

"_Ten minutes," Dr. Crosby says. "Then you'll be on your way." This time, he's the one clearly lying._

_She sighs. "Fine."_

_She follows Deeks in and sits on the couch next to him._

"_Great. So, I was hoping since I have you both here that we could talk about the two of you and what you've both been through. Together, I mean."_

_Crosby doesn't miss the fact that both of patients seem to stiffen up. _

"_How do you mean?" Deeks asks warily._

"_Undercover is rough when it's just yourself," Crosby answers. "Add in a partner who you're trying to protect and it can very quickly become hellish. As it did for the both of you."_

_Neither partner says a word._

"_Right. So let's get right to it then." He opens a file up. "Marty, do you blame Kensi for what happened to you?"_

_Deeks blinks, clearly thrown by the directness of the question. He's even more unnerved by the fact that he can feel Kensi's dark eyes on him. _

"_No," he finally says._

"_You're sure?"_

"_Yes."_

"_You're absolutely sure?"_

"_Yes. I said yes."_

"_Okay. Fine. Kensi, do you blame Marty for what happened?"_

"_No."_

"_You're sure?"  
_

"_What the hell is this?" she demands, her patience snapping like a dry twig. _

"_I'm just trying to gauge you two. I want to see how much you're willing to lie to yourselves in order to protect each other."_

_At the same time, the two partners rise, as if to leave._

"_We're done here," Deeks says._

_Crosby laughs. "Really? Well now that's interesting isn't it?"_

"_What's that?" Kensi asks._

"_Neither one of you two is all that certain is about anything right now, but you're both sure that you don't want to be here, and you don't want the other one to know that deep down, you both do blame each other."_

"_You're full of shit," Deeks growls, anger causing his nostrils to flare. It's a complete over-reaction, and all Kensi needs to see to know that Crosby is right._

"_You do," she says softly. "You do blame me."_

_He turns to her, and shakes his head. "No."_

"_It's okay," she replies, her voice breaking. "I blame myself. I shouldn't…I never should have stopped looking for you. I thought you were dead, and that gave me some degree of peace. But I…it wasn't about me. We should have found you."_

"_Kensi…"_

"_It's okay," she says again. "You can tell me the truth. I can handle it."_

"_It's the only way you'll both heal," Crosby inserts, his voice almost absurdly calm. He takes a slight step backwards, ensuring that he's out of their sight lines._

"_I was angry," he admits finally. "But I never…"_

"_You did. You do."_

_He closes his eyes. "Kensi, come on, don't do this."_

"_Deeks."_

"_Fine," he says. "I blamed you. Is that what you want to hear?" he opens his eyes and looks at her, sees how desperately she's fighting for control. It's one thing to believe the worst, but quite another to hear all of your worst fears be confirmed. _

"_No," she admits. "But I needed to hear it and you needed to say it."_

"_Why? What does it matter? Does knowing that make any difference now? It's over. He's dead. And any feelings I had were because I was…because I was scared. They weren't rational. They weren't…"_

"_I'm sorry," she says simply. It's far from the first time she's said it to him, but never before has it felt so stripped down and bare. She looks up at him with tears running down her cheeks. Her arms are wrapped around herself, like she's holding herself together, trying to keep herself from completely falling apart._

_Any anger he has at her suddenly falls away. _

"_This isn't your fault," he says. "And it's not mine. We both had moments where we screwed up, but…I'm not…I'm glad things turned out the way they did."_

"_What?"_

"_I'm glad it was me they took and not you."_

"_Why? Because I couldn't have handled it?"_

_He laughs, and it's an incredible sound even if there is a hint of bitterness in it. It's been so long since she's heard it. "That wasn't a challenge," he chides._

_She looks at him, and then, in spite of everything, she chuckles. He does the same, and for a few second, they share a moment of tenderness that feels familiar and comfortable. Effortless and painless._

_When it ends, they both just stare at each other, not sure what else to say._

_Finally, Dr. Crosby reinserts himself. "That was a good start," he says softly. _

_They both turn to look at him, wearing matching expressions of disbelief._

"_Really," he insists. "It was."_

"_All right, Doc. Fine. So where do we go from here?" Deeks asks._

"_That's up to the two of you. But understand this, what the two of you have been through is enough to tear anyone apart. That you both are fighting to keep that from happening is amazing. Hold onto that. If path leads you two to separate places, then so be it. But if leads you back to your old partnership, then let it. Don't fight the healing process. Don't fight the anger, the fear, any of it. Let the emotions be what they are."_

"_I don't want to be like this," Deeks admits. "I don't like what just happened here."_

"_I know. But believe me, it was a good thing. Now if you'd both like, we're done for the day. If either of you would like to stay, that's fine as well."_

_Both Deeks and Kensi share a look, and then both turn and head for the door._

"_That's what I thought," Crosby cracks. "All right, but make sure you stop by the front desk and make your next appointment."_

"_Together?" Kensi asks._

"_Call it partner's therapy. What just happened here was just the tip of the iceberg. But if you'd prefer to do your therapy separately, that's fine, too. Your choice."_

_They exchange another look, and then Deeks says, "We'll see you back here next week, Doc."_

"_Together?" he asks._

"_Yeah," Kensi confirms, her voice weary. "Together."_

* * *

The first time for them had been on the bathroom floor of the apartment that they'd been sharing as Kara Barstow and Jimmy Reese. It had been terrifying for him. While he'd certainly enjoyed being so close to her, and getting to touch her in ways that he'd previously only imagined, the knowledge of what had happened to her just hours earlier had remained omnipresent in the back of his mind. The entire time he'd been with her, he'd felt like he'd been trying to clean Kassel off of her – he'd felt like he'd been trying to help her forget what had been done to her.

Their second time had been in the bed just a few hours later, and that had seemed to be about making a connection – showing each other that the act in the bathroom had been about more than just frantic touches and desperate kisses. It'd been about them being there for each other in the worst of moments.

This time is about them – just them.

It's been almost eleven months since the day they were given the deep cover op. Almost eleven months since they became other people and started along a path that would end up bringing them both so much pain.

Eleven months ago, neither one of them could have ever seen everything turning out like this. If you'd told them back then that they would end up far more than just work partners, far more than just friends, they both would have laughed.

Life has a funny way of making rather absurd and unusual things happen.

She's sleeping in his arms, her body still slicked with sweat. She's stunningly beautiful even though he can tell that she's still not quite back to looking like she had before everything had happened. Like himself, she's a bit underweight, still struggling to sleep and eat.

She's no less amazing for it, as far as he's concerned.

He thinks back to the days they'd spent as an engaged couple. He thinks back to the kisses they'd shared, to the make-out session at the beach house.

And then he remembers her holding him after he'd refused to sell drugs to their next-door neighbor. Of all of the moments between them that had come before what had occurred in the bathroom, that had been the most sensual one of all.

Mostly because it had just been her – Kensi – holding him – Deeks.

It had been them. Just them.

Perhaps that had been the moment when deep down, he'd known that everything had changed for them. That had been the moment when they'd both known that they were too deep.

He tells himself that it doesn't matter anymore. They're both home and safe now. And somehow or another, she's lying in his arms.

It's boggles his mind. This kind of thing doesn't happen to him.

He's pretty sure he doesn't deserve it. He's also pretty sure that he's done caring about what he does and doesn't deserve. She's chosen to be here with him, in his arms, trusting him to hold her as she sleeps.

Whatever else that means, it means something to him.

And whatever else is to come, he knows that he won't let go of that something without a fight.

He won't let go of her without one, either.

* * *

_The apartment that Hetty finds for him is about three miles from the Mission, less than a half-mile from the beach. How she swung it – and his almost ridiculously low rent – he'll never know. He also really doesn't care._

_What he knows is that if he leaves his second story window open (and he always does) he can small the salty sea air as it drifts into his apartment. _

_Its proximity to the Mission is a whole other thing, though._

_Since the conclusion of the Kassel case, he hasn't stepped foot in the OSP headquarters. He knows that Kensi is fully back to work now, acting as part of a three-man team with Sam and Callen. He knows that he has an open invitation to return whenever he's ready. He knows that his spot is being held for him._

_For now, at least._

_Eventually, he's sure that the brass will want Kensi to have an actual partner again. And he's fairly certain that Hetty has already delayed the inevitable long enough – just as she'd done for Kensi previously._

_Strangely, though, none of that really bothers him._

_The idea of returning to works makes him almost want to throw up. He's not ready. He's not sure he ever will be again. _

_He envies Kensi her ability to jump back on the horse so quickly, but he also recognizes her actions for what they are – survival techniques. Simply put, she has no idea what else to do but go back to work. It's how she's chosen to deal with what happened to her – and him. It's how she pretends to push on._

_They've been going together to Crosby's sessions once a week. He's been going back for an individual hour every Thursday. He knows that Kensi is there on her own every Wednesday. He'd wager that his sessions are more productive simply because Kensi doesn't know how to not be strong. _

_That and she's far from ready to actually admit and deal with what Kassel had done to her. Like Hetty, he's not sure Kensi ever will be ready. And he's not sure how he feels about that. On one hand, maybe it's a good thing to just move past it. Kassel is dead, he can't hurt her anymore. On the other hand, pretending the attack had never occurred simply can't be healthy in the long run._

_Right?_

_He's just not sure._

_In any case, the sessions have been helping. The joint ones with Kensi always deal with them and rebuilding their trust and friendship. As the weeks have gone by, they've gotten lighter and the old banter seems to be returning in force. He's pretty sure that Crosby is starting to look forward to the sessions ending simply so he can get away from their constant ragging of each other._

_For Deeks, though, the sessions always end up filling him with hope. He figures if they can find a way back to who they were as partners and friends, then finding his way back to who he was as a man shouldn't be too much harder._

_That's what the private sessions are about – him. In those, Crosby urges him to talk about the things he can't talk to anyone else about – the torture and abuse that he went through at Kassel and Alejandro's hands. It's better that these happen without her. Lord knows that it's hard enough speaking to Crosby about these things, but if he had to actually look into her eyes while talking about what they done to him, well he's pretty sure that would break him completely._

_As it is, he always has hideous nightmares after the private sessions._

_He never tells anyone about them. Not even her. Though he's fairly certain that she's still dealing with nightmares of her own._

_Still, slowly but surely, he feels like he's beginning to recognize the face in the mirror again. The man he sees is tired and weary, but every now and again, he sees a familiar smile. Maybe even an impish grin._

_And he's starting to recognize the body as well. Whenever he can, he takes Monty out for a walk or a run (thankfully, the pup has completely forgiven him). It's taking time to put the muscle back on, but slowly but surely, it's happening._

_All fantastic progress. All steps forward._

_One Friday afternoon close to four months after Kassel's death, he's feeling good enough to take another step forward, this time on the advice of Dr. Crosby. _

_Still not quite risking getting behind a wheel just yet (his hands shake at strange times, especially when he gets nervous or startled – which is pretty much an every day occurrence in Los Angeles traffic) he first considers taking a network of buses, but then settles on asking Kensi to take him._

_Because the time has come – there's someone he needs to see, someone he has to speak to in order to help his healing along._

_His mother._

_It's been a long while since he's seen her. He knows that she has at least some idea of what he's gone through – enough to have surrendered over the journal that had helped bring him back to his senses. Back to himself._

_Now, it's time to actually see her._

_And forgive her._

_She's still living in the house that he'd grown up in. Kensi offers to stay in the car, but he asks her to join him. Still, out of respect, she hangs back, standing just a step behind him as he knocks on the door of the old apartment._

_When his mother opens it, she's surprised.  
_

"_Marty," she whispers._

"_Hi, Mom."_

_For a moment, neither moves, and then suddenly, Jillian Deeks – once Brandel – throws herself into her sons' arms. He holds her tight._

_What follows is sweet and painful, tearful and emotional. There are apologies and promises. Mostly, there's healing between mother and son._

_Kensi just watches, envious because Deeks is getting something with his mother that she will never get with her father, grateful because there's nothing more she wants than for him to be allowed the peace that he so desperately needs._

_When she brings him back to his apartment that night, they share a bottle of red wine, and talk about childhood memories – only the positive ones, of course. _

_It's as she's leaving that everything changes for them._

_Again._

_She's standing in the entry hall, pulling on her jacket when he says, "You know I don't know what I'd do without you."_

_She laughs. "Nor does anyone else."_

"_I'm serious," he replies._

"_I know. I just…wish you weren't."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I like when you're pissing me off by being…well, you."_

"_You like me being…well me?"_

"_I do."_

"_I'm still me," he says. _

"_Good," she answers. And then without warning, she leans up and kisses him soundly on the mouth. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. Instead, he simply pulls her to him, and kisses her back._

_It lasts until both of them are forced to come up for air. And then she stammers, "I should go. I…I should go."_

"_Okay," he replies. "I'll see you tomorrow?"_

"_Tomorrow?"_

"_You know. 'The sun will come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar.'"_

_She laughs. "Oh, Deeks." And with that, she turns and leaves._

_Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, he realizes that she'd never given him an answer, and in a moment of absolute insanity (and certainty), he decides that he's going to go to her apartment and get it from her in person._

_He calls for a taxi and tells the man that he needn't wait around._

* * *

Deeks doesn't know it, but she's still awake. She's quite good at pretending to be asleep. It's a skill she'd picked up during the later part of her relationship with Jack – after he'd returned from Afghanistan. In those days, he'd had a bad habit of coming to bed late, sometimes drunk and sometimes just shaking under the weight of nightmares that wouldn't let him go even in his waking hours.

She'd always waited until he'd finally fallen into a troubled slumber, and then she'd opened her eyes, pressed her body behind his, and pulled him close.

She'd tried to will him into a painless dreamless sleep, tried to let him know how much she loved him, and how much she would give to get him better.

It seldom worked, and yet she'd never given up until the day he'd left her.

Now, lying in her bed, her arms wrapped around her partners' chest, she's thinking about both men.

Six years ago she'd woken up on Christmas morning in an empty bed.

Ten months ago, she'd woken up once again in an empty bed. Later, she'd found out that Deeks had gone after Sanchez.

Those two events have defined her life to date.

She means to ensure that she doesn't wake up alone again.

And so, long after Deeks is asleep, she's still awake. Listening to his heartbeat, feeling its cadence.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Rhythmic. Calm. Steady.

Peaceful.

At some point or another, regardless of her intentions of staying awake like a small child awaiting Christmas morning, that same heartbeat lulls her to sleep.

And for the first time in months, the both of them sleep soundly.

* * *

_She opens the door already wearing her sleep clothes, and for some reason or another, she doesn't seem terribly surprised to see him there._

"_Deeks," she says simply._

"_Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?" he responds, smirking slightly. His eyes slide over her, taking in the uber-comfortable get-up she's in. It's not sexy or sophisticated – it's simple and down-to-earth. _

_It's Kensi. _

"_You're here because you're wondering why I kissed you."_

"_No. I know why you kissed me," he responds. "I'd kiss me, too, if I were you."_

_She laughs. "Really? You would?"_

"_I am adorable."_

"_Uh huh. Deeks, why are you here?"_

"_We should talk."_

"_Aren't we?"_

"_Maybe inside?"_

"_Deeks…"_

"_Some things never change do they?"_

"_I'm not a talker," she admits._

"_Okay," he nods. "Then I guess I'll settle for this." And without further delay, he reaches out, kisses her soundly and pushes her into her apartment._

* * *

It's just after five in the morning when she opens her eyes. After a brief moment of panic when she realizes that she'd fallen asleep, she calms considerably when she sees that he's still lying next to her. The only difference is that somehow or another, he's now resting against her instead of her against him.

Blinking, she has to look at the clock a couple of times to confirm its read-out because if it's right, it means that for the first time since this nightmare had begun, she'd actually managed more than three hours of consecutive sleep.

The clock isn't lying – a fact she confirms with the use of her watch and his.

"What are you doing?" he asks as she lifts his arm up. He's groggy, but tracking her completely with her bright blue eyes.

"Confirming the time," she answers.

"You have to be at work?" She hears the hint of disappointment in his tone.

"No," she says, reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers trace over his stubble, lightly combing it with her tips. "It's Saturday."

"Then what's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"Kensi…"

She laughs.

"What?"

"It's just…it's stupid. It's just…I slept well last night." she finally tells him. "For the first time in a long time, I slept well. That's all. That's it. And yeah, I know how corny and lame that sounds."

"You've always been corny," he tells her with a smile. "And kind of lame." But then, growing slightly serious, he admits quietly, "I did, too. I guess then the question is, do you have any regrets?"

She thinks about that for a moment and then replies, "Depends on what kind. I'll always have regrets for what you went through," – she holds up her hand to stop him when he starts to protest – "But if you're asking me if I have regrets about last night, then no. None. You?"

He shakes his head. "So does this mean we get to stay in bed all day?" He rolls over and straddles her, leaning down to kiss her neck as he speaks.

"No," she laughs, allowing a brief kiss on the neck, and then pushing him off of her. "It means you get your ass up and make me breakfast."

"Pushy woman you are."

"What? You thought that would change?"

"That would have been stupid of me."

"Very. Go make breakfast." Then, as if remembering, she adds, "After you surf."

He tilts his head questioningly.

"No matter how much we want it you and I aren't ever going to be exactly who we were before everything happened, but that doesn't mean we have to be completely different either," she tells him. "You and me, Deeks, we need to get back to who we were and that means that we need to get back to our rhythms. Which means you surf and…"

"You sleep and wait for breakfast to be made?"

"Exactly. Now go."

Reluctantly, he slides away from her, and out of her bed. He's halfway up when he stops and turns back. Quietly, he asks again, "No regrets?"

"None," she replies, offering him a dazzlingly beautiful smile. And then to pound the point home, she brings him back down to her, and placing a soft hand on the side of his face, she kisses him. Gently. Passionately. Sweetly.

This, he realizes as he lets her pull him back down, is the true meaning of peace.

**-Fin.**


End file.
